The Truth Behind The Truth
by Saia-chan
Summary: The Promised Day has passed, but Ed and Al have not yet restored their bodies. Without any leads to follow, they decide to part ways to better their chances of success. Following the myths and legends of the world, Edward finds himself in Hogsmeade. With his goal within reach, it seems that taking his chance will be the hardest leg of the journey. NOT Student!Ed
1. Dogweed and Deathcap

**Disclaimer:** I own neither Harry Potter nor FMA and I'm certainly not getting any money for this.

Complete author's note and explanations to (numbers) are to be found at the end of the chapter.

Warnings to all of you who haven't read the manga/the books: _spoilers_

Warnings to all of you who like to ship the chars into non-canon-pairings: I loveto read those but right now I want to concentrate on staying as much ic as possible – thus _canon pairings_ (towards the end of the fanfic)

"Abc!" - spoken words

_Abc!_ - thoughts

* * *

Chapter 1 Dogweed and Deathcap (words: 9813)

A sigh could be heard in the middle of the mountains as Edward Elric finally reached the top of the hill and got a clear few of the land that lay before him. The sun shone brightly over the small fields of grass that swayed in the light afternoon breeze of mid June(1), enclosed by even higher peaks than the one on whose plateau he currently stood. A village could be seen a good distance away and, although the size and state of it could not be determined yet, the sight of it raised Ed's spirits a lot.

_Am I at the right place?_

It was honestly hard to believe this was the place he had come to after following yet another lead to the Philosopher's Stone. In his mind the stone was associated with death, despair and greed for power and immortality.

_And yet this place seems to be the very manifestation of peacefulness..._

He frowned slightly, then shook his head to clear it of any doubts and continued on his path uphill towards where the outlines of the assembly of cottages could be seen.

It had been a long time since he could last do this: Just wander the landscape on his quest for knowledge and redemption without any deadly threats waiting for him around the next corner. The homunculi and their Father had only been defeated few months ago, at the beginning of spring, and the military had had to face the resulting changes.

It was a speck on the perfectness that they hadn't been able to return to their original bodies(2) in the process, but for now they had gained additional time as they had found a way to renew Al's blood seal, strengthening the connection to the never changing armour. It eased a lot of pressure off of both their shoulders and whilst they tried to come up with a solution, the nightly conversations about how to approach the task had brought back memories of when they were still staying in their own home in Resembool, discussing alchemical theories back and forth until early morning hours all those years ago.

Al hadn't even minded that he was not able to sleep because for once he was grateful for it. The destruction that the Promised Day had brought to Central was severe and all of them had to do as much as they could to repair the damages. While the military was busy restructuring, bringing the old brass to justice and convincing the public of what really happened, the Elric brothers became even more famous. Helping people without asking for anything in return left quite a big impression, especially in the times of need when most either looked after themselves and their own problems and others only how to turn the need of those to their own advantage. Ed and Al were delighted by every single smile, every single word of gratitude from the inhabitants of destroyed houses and shopkeepers; the eyes that shone of new hope and determination to start anew, lifted their spirits and raised their motivation to continue and completely restore the capital to its former beauty.

_...Our journey couldn't end there though. And Al's renewed seal is just a temporary solution to the main problem as well. I do miss him a lot but following two separate leads has got a higher chance of success..._

He wouldn't have been able to cross the great desert anyway as his brother had oh so helpfully pointed out. It was a good thing, sometimes, that an armour could not express real facial expressions. The look of apology at these words or the sadness in Al's real eyes at his departure would have been enough to make Ed demand Winry for a pair of super-heat-resistant-automail without a care whether they had not been invented yet or not. With only Al's voice though, he managed to let his little brother go. Barely.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Edward raised his eyes from the path to assess any changes in scenery. Not that he expected much. For days he had been travelling these mountains and despite small differences, his surroundings had consisted of a monotone change of peaks, hills, small fields of grass and the barely visible path he had taken at the beginning. He imagined this would be what the north of Amestris would look like in early summer as well; even now the air was a little crisp at night and had that unmatched freshness when breathing as well as the clearness that made it possible to spot a bird circling the skies for its to-be-pray on the ground from multiple kilometres away. He had gotten used to it by now though. Awakening in his sleeping bag in the mornings he could enjoy how the sun would rise, how it would bath the snow covered mountain tops in a soft, golden glow and chase away the fog that had collected in lower valleys, leaving behind small droplets of dew that twinkled like millions of clear yet tiny diamonds.

Through it all, though, he had never doubted to be on the right way, as the nearer he had gotten to this place, the less effort it took of him to use alchemy whenever he needed to get to a higher level of the mountain. It felt a little like the Promised Day all over again - just without the impeding doom and the fear to fail attached to the feelings.

_A philosopher's Stone alone isn't able to do that though. There's just too much loose energy around here. Energy that could be used as payment for Al's body!_

He frowned a little, grabbed his trunk tighter and widened his steps a little in anticipation of all the discoveries he might stumble across in this land near nowhere.

The first thing that caught his attention was an old, quite demolished, building some distance away from the main village that seemed to have been uninhabited for a long time. On a second thought it was entirely questionable if anyone had ever lived in there at all. There was no path leading to it, no apparent entrance either, no chimney and no postbox, all of the windows were barricaded with so many wooden planks that it was doubtful the sun ever reached inside. Ed narrowed his eyes a little to double check of he had just missed something but he still couldn't make out any sign of living or other possible purposes for its existence.

_Strange..._

From what he could see when he averted his eyes again, the rest of the village itself seemed ordinary enough: Along the main street were quite a few neat cottages in two lines on either side, a pub and a surprising number of shops with extremely imaginative names. The roofs had the steep slope that was usual for settlements this far up the mountains so that the snow would easily slide down to the ground. Just. an. ordinary. village. Called Hogsmeade apparently, if the worn-out sign at its entrance was anything to go by.

_I just hope nobody lied to me about this being near the place associated with the stone! They wouldn't know what hit them after I hunt them down if they made me spend all this time coming up here for nothing!_

Granted, it was doubtful that he would go back to the nice old couple four days worth travelling ago but the thought released a little of his pent up frustration over still - after five years of searching! - not having Al back in his real body.

Ed spotted a group of three persons happily chatting away in the afternoon sun approximately 150 meters down the road and straightened up a little. Locals were the most likely to have heard about myths, legends or rumours concerning the stone or anything else that was unusual. Usually he would go to the pub for information but this was out of question this time. He had taken Amestrian money with him when he left but when passing so many different countries in such a short amount of time he forgot to change it in the middle (Creating money by using alchemy might be forbidden, but no one had ever written something about train tickets... right? Sometimes it was a blessing that Al wasn't with him to constantly remind him of following morals.) and was now too far away for any changer to recognize his currency and accept it as 'not fake'. And he didn't even know what the local money looked like anyway. No bartender liked to have customers lurking around their establishment that were actually broke and no villager inside the pub would let their guard down and pour out valuable information if he didn't invite them to a free cup or two of a local alcohol brand. (Then again, Al's morals might have thus saved him from that fate.)

With no other options left to go he 'decided' that a little small talk with those three would be the best way to handle things. Boots crunched across the earthen street, occasionally kicking a loose stone in front of him. Eyes travelled the surrounding buildings decidedly unsuspiciously, taking in their age, the state of their sharp sloped roofs and the few 'early' blossoms that brought colour to the front gardens. He had rarely ever seen daffodils blossoming in mid June. Not entirely faking to admire the village's beauty, his actual focus lay on taking in an judging the locals out of their corner of his eyes.

It seemed to be a couple somewhere in their thirties standing with their backs turned to him facing and talking to an elderly man with grey hair and a beard decorating a round face seeming to all the world just like neighbours enjoying the weather and chitchatting about the latest gossip. Then again: Maybe not. Just like the two who had shown him on this way these three were wearing long-sleeved clothings that reached from their shoulders to their feet and would have surely gained the label of 'dress' if it hadn't been for the lack of frills, eye-catching colours and printings. With matching hats even. He was far away from home but he still doubted that men in these regions would actually wear dresses. Whilst one option was that it was just to suit the rough weather up here, the mentioned couple downhill had also worn those in the heat of the city and whenever the stone was concerned the possibility of all of them belonging to some kind of cult reaching for world-domination or immortality wasn't far away.

_Not again..._

Edward couldn't go on remembering about Lior or the Homunculi as something in the house next to the old man crashed loudly, followed by a myriad of panicked curses from within and more crashing. Just as Edward reached the scene the first objects flew through the bursting shop windows and onto the street. He crouched down slightly to pick up a plant with yellow blossoms with his left hand that had been thrown out, pot completely smashed by the hard impact on the ground, and dodged another one that came his way just as he was about to get up again.

"Please not... Jimmy!" The old man with the grey hair and the round face quickly collected himself from his state of shock and used three long steps to reach the front door. He then quickly proceeded to open it just to be pushed back by a flock of something small, blue, human shaped and winged (3) that left the house and proceeded to attack not only the door and its opener, but the flowerbed and bystanders as well. Cursing under the high-pitched cackles of the troublemakers he pushed onward inside, probably to either scold or rescue 'Jimmy'.

Neadless to say, Ed was shocked. Wide eyed and motionless he could only watch the craziness unfold. Some of _them_ had picked up the earth from the crashed flower pots and smeared it like mud all over the shop sign. What had said "Dogweed and Deathcap" in nice golden letters on a fitting green ground before was now reduced to "weed and Death" and was sure to not attract any customers any time soon. Another group had made it their task to annoy the younger couple. They tore not only on their clothings, but on their hairs as well. With a small jolt of disgust Ed watched as one particular annoying...creature... tried to stick its arm inside the man's nose. He reacted by taking out a short dark-wooden, scarcely decorated stick, snatched the creature from his face with a yelp and shot a barely visible light at it. When the creature's wings slowed their working speed considerably, it fell to the ground where it continued with its annoying high pitched shrieks of anger.

Ed only managed to affirm with a quick glimpse towards the woman that she was doing the same, strange stick-trick, before he became a target as well. In an instant two had grabbed on his coat near the shoulders in an attempt to lift him into the air but failed even when two more joined pulling on his ears. Their tiny eyebrows knitted together in confusion when the plan didn't work the way they had imagined to. The smirk that appeared on Ed's face when he realised yet another advantage of automail – lightest winter-safe version or not – disappeared just as quickly when he felt a rather painful, sharp tug on his ponytail. His head forcibly jerked up at one the insistent pull before he put his trunk down and tried to reach for the annoying creature. He needed quite a few tries combined with a furious swinging of his head from one side to another in the feeble attempt to knock it and the ones on his ears off – which they seemed to enjoy as some kind of free-of-charge rodeo-ride – to pluck it out of his hair. Mission accomplished he held it in the unrelenting grip of his right hand in front of his face to get a closer look and realized slightly pleased that his first impression hadn't been too far off.

In his hand was a 20 centimetre small creature that had the general appearance of a micro-human, except for the pointed face and a pair of furiously flapping wings. The unusual electric blue of the skin reminded him a bit of the cackling light of energy whenever he used alchemy. Speaking of which.

_I had thought that gate had hammered all the knowledge of the world inside my head during our encounter. Seems like this species and the language spoken by them had not been included in the package. Then again... maybe that's better that way._ He grimaced a bit. Judging from the high pitching of the screeches, the angry scowl on the face and the insistent swinging and pounding of tiny fists on his gloved metal fingers, the general message still came across clearly even if probably not as colourful and imaginative as intended.

Ending his examination he came to the conclusion that, no, he still had no idea what was in front of him.

_Is this what fairies look like? They are small enough and can fly but aren't they actually supposed to be non-existent, nice and helpful?_ He couldn't quite remember. It had been some time since his mother had last read fairytales to him and his brother.

The present examples were pretty much very real and neither nice nor helpful. At all. Decision made he shrugged his coat off, ignored the newly summoned assault of angry screeches when he released the annoyance from his right hand, clapped and mutated the fabric to a nice, red bag with a closable opening. One after another, the fairies from his clothing and his general near vicinity found their way inside. Once clear of direct assault he turned around slightly and plucked a couple more out of the air that seemed to be kicking and punching angrily at something invisible. He watched in astonishment as one flew full speed away from the shop just to be stopped dead in its tracks right where the others fought heroically against their invisible enemy.

_A wall?_ Frowning a little, Ed raised an arm to check his hypothesis and was met with nothing but normal air. His hand passed right through. Ever the scientist though, his interest had been picked. He grabbed yet another fairy and curiously realised that now he could not extend his arm any further than 30 centimetres where he seemed to squish his poor, chosen guineapig midair.

_What the..._

"It's not the first time the pixies broke out," a smooth and rather deep voice offered in a vain attempt to be helpful. Ed turned towards the shop again to see that the couple from earlier had immobilized all the other fairies' wings and were smiling warmly at him. Seeing that he still had a somewhat confused expression on his face the woman continued her husbands explanation a little more elaborately.

"It's no problem to keep track of one Cornish Pixie alone but when all of them manage to get away from poor Jimmy their mischief knows no ends. Neither Thomas nor the other shop owners wanted to risk them wrecking havoc in the whole village again after the first time so they installed a ward specifically made to keep them in the nearer vicinity of _"Dogweed and Deathcaps"_. It works magnificently, don't you think?"

It made sense in a way to keep potentially dangerous stuff away from your neighbours. It made also sense to create … something … to ensure this in case the 'danger' escaped. _The rest however... Dangerous pixies... wards... are those guys for real?_

Ed snapped out of his thoughts when he realised that someone still expected an answer from him. _Friendly idiots get answers more easily than demanding and threatening idiots..._ He thus schooled his face in a slightly curious expression with a small smile on it to mask his confusion and inclined his head to where the barrier would be if it had been visible.

"Well I guess none of them got away so it probably does. Do you know how it works _exactly_?"

Dumbfounded faces was not the reaction he had planned to get. The couple looked at each other, then back at him, then at each other once more. After what seemed like eternity, the man finally opened his mouth: "I guess we never bothered to ask old Thomas which spell he used. We only ever cared that it worked." He smiled apologetically.

_... A spell... ?_ Because there was nothing making sense anymore, Ed decided to nod his head in false understanding and waited for his brain to manage to catch up with the oddities.

It never got the chance.

"There you are!" The sound of a voice got carried to their ears through the still open doorway followed by advancing steps. Soon the old man from earlier stood in front of them, clothes a little ruffled but otherwise fine and wearing a relieved smile – though it was hard to say with the beard. He had discarded his hat somewhere inside and he, too, was holding a wooden stick in his right hand.

"Good! The ward still holds up, I had been worried there for a moment. Thanks for your help, Lucy, Henry, I really appreciate it." After nodding to the addressed persons respectively he raised his stick and swung it in a smooth, fluid motion pointing in the general area of where the pixies whose wings had been immobilized were still trying to break out of the barrier. In an instant they were floating in the air and, by another flick of the stick, towards the building. He had apparently made a vague estimation about how many should have been flying past him and how many actually were because his formerly relieved smiled morphed into one of worry.

"Strange. I was sure more of them had gotten out. Just where...?"

There was no need to finish his sentence as Edward chose this moment to wordlessly hold his arm up and shook his bag just a little bit, causing the poor creatures inside to throw yet another fit of angry screeches.

The surprise in the man's eyes told Ed, that he was probably realising his presence for the very first time. He felt his gaze travel up and down his form, pausing at his long hair, his gloves and the trunk beside him for a short moment, before it rested on his face once again.

Smiling broadly, he said: "Well, seems like they have been expertly taken care of already. Thank you, young man, your help is appreciated a lot. Could I ask you for one last favour? To bring them inside? I fear they might escape again if the bag changed hands." He didn't, however, wait for a reply and instead just turned around to go back inside, pixies obediently floating right behind him.

Edward was shaken. Not even a Philosopher's Stone possessed the power to let things float. Or immobilize wings for the matter. But there were no circles to be seen anywhere anyways as far as he could tell. _So then: How do they do it?_

He nearly fell face first to the ground when he tried to follow the man on autopilot and barely managed to regain his balance. A glance to his combat boots confirmed that even fairies that weren't able to fly still loved to prank people. _Binding shoelaces together might not be very imaginative_, Ed mused, _but it still works apparently_. He watched in concealed amazement as his laces untied and retied themselves properly. The woman, Lucy, was barely hiding an amused smirk and waved his nearly forgotten trunk inside the shop before following the two men.

"It wouldn't do to have it standing out there all alone when we are all inside. Who knows, maybe one of the owls would think it's a package and try to deliver it without knowing the destination," she threw jokingly over her shoulder in what could have only been a read of his mind, if only a partly

Ed couldn't help but wonder what part of her last sentence was meant to be funny: That owls do deliveries? Or that they might mix them up accidentally? Or that they might actually _not_ know the destination? En lieu for his sanity he hoped the answer would be 'All of it.', smiled politely and started walking.

The first thing Edward noticed upon entering was that the shop seemed to be a lot bigger inside to what he would have guessed from the outside. In fact he was positive that it was bigger than what should be _possible_. At least if the adjoining shops were indeed separate buildings with separating walls and alleys in-between.

The second thing he noticed was that the interior didn't look much different compared to the outside. Thanks to the pixies there was earth and plants scattered everywhere, sometimes a leaf or a blossom was torn off. Powders or dried plantparts had been thrown out of their bowls and boxes and mixed in on the floor with the rest. He spotted a group of mushrooms standing upside down on their heads a little further off to his left side. The reason Thomas had 'discarded' his hat had also become obvious when he had thrown a quick glance towards the small chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

The third thing he noticed was that truth had not only missed to stuff information on 'Cornish Pixies' into his head. All around him he could see plants, fungi and algae that he had no knowledge of. Unless the pixies had found a radiant red and yellow colourpots somewhere he was sure that plants with blood red leaves and yellow thorns were not to be considered usual. And were those blue roots that stuck out from one of the broken pots?

_The craziness just keeps piling up and up... _He shook his head a little to clear his thoughts_. ...Just like the possibilities!_

They crossed the sales room and entered what appeared to be a normal living area gone through war. A boy of maybe six or seven years wearing for once normal clothing sat on a worn down couch at the left side of the room. He raised his head slightly when Ed and the others entered, revealing an equally round face with speckles and teary eyes. His hands clutched at the sides of his head over both of his ears framing an untamed flock of brown and rather short hair. At one look from his grandfather however, he straightened his posture, swallowed down a large gulp and swiped at his eyes. _Men don't cry, huh?_ Ed smiled at the attempt to look brave. The boy bowed shortly to them, walked stiffly across the room to the door on the right side and scurried through it in an instant.

The group, however, ignored the door heading to the right and went straight ahead to where a door led them outside in a small garden instead. There were two long greenhouses, one to the left, the other to the right, both packed with infinite amounts of 'green' and a couple of bushes at the far end. The centre of the area held no plants whatsoever though. Set on poles, four rather big cages were placed there, two of them already filled with the electric blue, mischievous, loudly complaining pixies. They came to a halt in front of the third and with yet another flick of the stick the cagedoor opened and the captives floated in one by one. When everyone was securely inside, the door clicked shut and Lucy and Henry used their sticks to release the formerly immobilized wings back into freedom. Soon afterwards Ed's makeshift bag had been emptied into the fourth and last of the cages. By now all inhabitants stood at or flew near the cagebars swinging their fists towards them and causing headaches to form.

"How on earth can you _live_ with those things around?" Edward couldn't help but ask. His face a pained grimace and his hands clamping down over his ears he regarded Thomas incredulously.

"Ah, well, you see...," the man rubbed the backside of his head in clear embarrassment, "my late wife was a big fan of Gilderoy Lockhart. Maybe you have heard of him? Really, no? Well, let's say he was quite famous, even a celebrity. One and a half year ago he was teaching Defense Against The Dark Arts at Hogwarts and he used these little troublemakers to teach his second year students. He did not need them after the lesson was finished so he came to Hogsmeade, because it's the nearest village, and offered them to the residents free of charge. My good Martha was so delighted when she got them. 'They are _Mr. Lockharts_ pixies! They were with _him_! Oh what would I have given to be assisting in one of _his_ lessons!' is what she used to say."

The mimics of his wife's voice were a little exaggerated and clearly showed his annoyance with the matter. The words 'Why couldn't she be fine with assisting _me_ on a normal shop day when _I_ even am her _husband_?' didn't need to be said. Thomas, Lucy and Henry wore amused, yet slightly sad expressions that told stories of times long past that they held in dear memory.

So, Edward didn't know how to behave in such situations. Situations like being attacked by an unknown species, encountering techniques that defied all laws known to him and emotionally loaded conversations where he didn't know enough to offer real comfort. Not that he was good at giving comfort even when he knew the complete background. He thus decided to go for the first thing that came to his mind: _Keep the conversation rolling._ If someone continues to talk they get their minds off things by moving on to a different path of the story. The wooden sticks could always come later.

"So that explains how you got them. But it doesn't make sense to _keep_ them when they repeatedly crash your shop, living area and gardens."

"Yes, that's how we got them," Thomas paused briefly to recollect himself. "My dear wife passed away half a year later, slipped in the snow and hit her head on a stone beneath it, to never find out that her beloved Mr. Lockhart was nothing but a fraud. She might not be here anymore, but the pixies are and as they were very dear to her and she was very dear to me I feel responsible for the little things. I can't just let them go. The finity of her death would be all too clear then." He looked fondly at the cages.

"Thus I raised up wards that go around this garden and the house to keep them here. The destruction is usually avoided too, so they aren't really necessary. Only in the few months of summer, when there is no snow, does my grandson, Jim, come for a visit. To visit his old grandfather, get a bit of fresh mountain air and, ever since last year, to check after his beloved grandma's pixies as well. He loves them as much as I do; even when they don't return the favour."

Edward blinked. "Is there a difference between the ways both of you treat the pixies? You said they only ever escaped when he is here so maybe if you teach him the method..."

"That's not possible, unfortunately. He is still far away from being eleven years old and only then will he get a proper wand. We don't have any spare ones and Ollivander wouldn't sell one to a child of his age. But he loves feeding them too much."

Again, Edward was startled. When mentioning the wand (_As in magic?_) Thomas had momentarily risen his right hand to indicate the wooden stick he was still holding. Thus, apparently, the local residents bought wooden sticks, called wands, from someone, called Ollivander, after they reached a certain age, eleven, and then knew how to defy gravity – what they would presumedly call magic. So a Philosopher's Stone could amplify alchemy and bypass its laws, he knew that much. But if these people had found a way to bypass gravity and levitate without using the stone, then maybe they had other means at their disposal that could be used to get back to Al's body.

_Good thing I am older than eleven years, huh? Now, how to get more information without being too pushy?_

He recapped the situation. He wasn't sure if he could restore the living room or the shop. He didn't have enough knowledge about the plants that were sold or the pixies so it was likely that he would encounter even more unknown variables when transmuting. And you needed _all_ of the variables in an alchemical equation if you didn't want to face an explosive rebound. _Another explosion after the pixie-attack is sure to be anything but appreciated._

He could work with the cage-situation, he decided, but the pixies were bothersome.

"Uhm, Mr...?"

"Oh I am so sorry. My name is Thomas Lane, owner of the 'Dogweed and Deathcaps' that you had the unfortunate displeasure of seeing in its worst state ever. A pleasure to meet you."

"I'm Edward Elric and I'm a traveller. Pleased to meet you too." He took the offered hand and shook it, smiling for a moment before turning a calculating gaze towards the cages. "Mr. Lane, do you think it would be possible to remove the pixies out of their cages for a moment? I've got an idea for your problem but they are somewhat of in the way. Can you manage?"

The man frowned but gave a short nod. A flick of wand later, the cages were empty. Edward did not look around to see where the pixies had landed – the loud noise now coming from somewhere behind him a little to his right – and stepped forward. A clap of hands, a drop to the ground and the comfortable feeling of energy rushing through his body filled his senses to the point he completely missed the surprised gasps from behind him. Again he remarked how few effort it cost him to transmute in this area and used it to his full advantage. When the electric cackling diminished and the moving elements slowed down to reach their intended design he stepped back to check the finished product.

He had removed the poles and switched them to a wide pedestal with a few steps going up on all of the four sides from where the ground had sunk a little in the process. In its middle he had combined all of the poles' and the former cages' materials into a single one with a glass ceiling that was as sloped as the ones of the cottages. The bars were gracefully decorated with shapes of flower blossoms wherever they touched so blend in with the rest of the garden. He had made sure to not only use sand for the glass but also certain coloured particles of the ground to darken it as a protectional shield against the mountain sun's rays. Two meters in width and three meters in height should be enough for all the pixies too. To make sure they didn't get bored he had even added some swings that dropped from the ceiling, a series of rings they could fly through, softer ground for sleeping places and a pond.

All in all he was rather pleased with himself. The blossoms especially had been a big treat when all his 'instincts' screamed to insert gargoyles, dragons and spikes. Yep, pleased he was.

"That should do the trick. You can put them back inside now if you want. As for little Jimmy, there is this lid here." He turned his head a moment to check if Mr. Lane was listening (he was, though rather wide-eyed), then turned back and pointed to a portion of the cage that was around one metre from the ground. "Actually there are four of them, one on each side. When you open it," he demonstrated, "you can place food on this part here, it works a little like a tray. See, at this moment everything is closed off so no pixie can come out. Then you close the first lid like this and pull the tray out of the cage like this, " he demonstrated again, "which will result in the food falling to this table-like structure here. Well it doesn't look like a table but it still works the same."

"This was … surprising." Henry was the first to find his voice.

Thomas was the next. "Indeed. A transfiguration of this complexity and at such a tender age. Without a wand or incantation even! You must have an utmost control of your magic to be able to pull that off, lad." Thomas flicked his wrist again and watched on in astonishment as the pixies started to search through their new home.

"'Transfiguration'? Is that the common term to use in this region? It's a strange word to choose but I guess it describes the same process..." To himself he thought: _So I _was_ right about the 'magic'-part._

"Well, what would you call it, Mr. Elric?" This time it was a slightly confused Lucy who had spoken.

"Transmutation. At least that's what everyone calls it at home."

"Thomas is right, what you did was really amazing. Then again, I don't think I have ever heard of that term. You mentioned to be a traveller earlier, just how far from home are you actually?"

"Several weeks worth travelling. I don't mind how far away I am that much. I try to get to know different parts of the world, search for local legends and see how much truth I can find in them. Wherever the stories take me, I'll go."

"Oh this sounds like you've got a lot of stories to tell." Lucy's eyes were beaming with curiosity one moment, then she deflated a little. Frowning she looked at his trunk, then back at him. "I'd really like to hear more about them, but, say, are you being expected somewhere? Surely you came to Hogsmeade to visit someone - wouldn't they be worried by now?"

Ed was a little surprised at the woman's hindsight and attentiveness towards his affairs and also to the shared curiosity of the three residents. They were apparently as eager to hear about his skills as he was to hear about theirs. What had looked to bring no more than a little smalltalk when he first approached them could just be about to turn into an information-goldmine.

"I didn't come to visit anyone. As I said, I just follow the stories. At this time of the year I usually camp outside to save the little money that is at my disposal. I have some questions of my own so I wouldn't mind sharing stories with you at all." He smiled genuinely pleased before deciding to finally address the invisible, big, pink elephant in the middle of the room. "I guess we should first do something about the state of Mr. Lane's cottage though."

As soon as his name was said the man promptly swirled around, obviously awoken from his own thoughts. "That's right. I nearly forgot! Lucy, Henry would you mind...?"

"It's alright, Thomas, it's quite a bit of work after all. Come on, dear, we'll see what we can do inside." That said, the couple too out their wands respectively and returned inside.

The old man looked fondly at their retreating backs. "Such nice people, the Aarons. I already knew them when they were still young and attending Hogwarts. Never failed to visit me on the Hogsmeade weekends too, even when the professors had given them high workloads. And then when Martha died..." He paused shortly, then suddenly snapped out of his reverie. "Right! We have a task to attend to."

With a couple of flicks of his wand he repaired the glass planes of the green houses where the pixies had thrown rocks at it, smoothed the ground and evaluated the status of his bushes and their berries at the rear. Edward's first action was to swiftly transmute the bag he was still holding back into his trademark coat and put it on again. They had talked quite a bit and by now the sun was rapidly setting behind the mountains, leaving the area with a slightly chilling breeze. Not wanting to be useless with the repairs he picked the shutters of the windows that had been pulled from their hinges off the ground and reinserted them at their correct places at the cottage. With the garden at its presumedly former state Ed picked up his trunk and both men continued inside to see what else needed to be done.

A good 30 minutes later when everything seemed to be back to normal within the Lane cottage the four could be found sitting comfortably at the kitchen table. Mr. Lane had offered them to stay over for dinner "to show his gratitude for the help in minimizing pixie-damage and repairing the same".

"I haven't had a real kitchen-made meal in days," announced a visible delighted Edward. "And you are even making stew! Stew's my absolute favourite." He started to dig in as soon as the bowl was set in front of him. "It's quite good too!"

"In days? That doesn't sound very healthy. Where have you been?" The worry in Mrs. Aarons voice was audible.

"Eh? Getting up here of course. It's not like there are any inns on the way or something like that. I mean it's not like there even is a proper _path_ for that matter!"

"You want to tell us that you actually _climbed_ all the way to Hogsmeade? I've never heard of that before! I thought it wasn't even possible. Without floo, a broom, apparition or using a train it would positively take weeks, if not longer..."

Edward didn't think he really wanted to know how a bunch of insects and cleaning utensils could help one to climb a mountain and settled for the next options.

"I didn't even know there was a train I could have used. And getting up here isn't that hard when one can transmute the landscape. I just elevated myself on higher levels or lower levels all the time and I've always been in a good physical shape so it was no big deal. I rather enjoyed it, really. Now, the other word I didn't understand. What's apparition mean?"

"You are astounding me more and more, young man!" It was Mr. Lane's wide-eyed turn to add to the conversation. "Have you really never heard of that word?"

"No. Maybe it's like transmutation and transfiguration and I just know it by another term." Ed tried to find out its meaning by searching for the origin of the word in other languages but could only come up with 'appear'. But you usually appeared at one place when you arrived, so this was not helpful at all.

"That could be it. A synonym then. What about teleportation, surely you must have heard of that one?"

"Teleportation? Disappearing at one place and reappearing at the other?" (The origin of the word made a lot more sense now.) "As in disassembling the body, sending the particles through space and reassembling them somewhere else?" This didn't sound good. Or maybe it did. He was looking for a safe way to transmute his brother after all and what Mr. Lane had just proposed sounded a huuuge lot like human transmutation. Or human transfiguration.

He got a collective nod. "Yes, dear, that's what we are talking about. You could have used that to come up here."

"No. No, I couldn't. We don't practice our powers on humans at home. Or animals for that matter. It's... unnatural I guess. Thus I don't know how to do it. Could you demonstrate?"

The others blinked a little owlishly at him, then three loud cracks were heard and all of his companions had suddenly disappeared. A split second later, he heard another loud crack from behind him and two dull ones from the other side of the kitchen door. When it opened it revealed Mrs. Aaron and Mr. Lane who walked in smiling and sat back down at the table to continue eating. Mr. Aaron then joined them from behind a very dumbfounded alchemist and picked up the conversation where it had been dropped off.

"I think it's quite unusual not to use magic on humans or animals, when it comes from our insides or when there are so many magical creatures, like the pixies. Magic is what we are so why wouldn't you use it on yourself, say, for example to heal?"

"Healing, huh. I'm not quite sure myself, to be honest." That was a lie. Anyone who really knew him would know the answer immediately. He had lost his brother's body and two of his limbs in his first attempted human transmutation. Then he had sacrificed all those poor souls from Envy's Philosopher's Stone to transmute himself and get out of Gluttony and if that wasn't enough, he had even used his _own_ soul, or a part of it at least, to heal from Kimbley's attack in the Briggs mountains. _ . .Again!_

He could hardly explain this to his new acquaintances though. And hadn't they said the power comes from within them? So combined with the earlier revelation of them only being able to learn it after becoming eleven it seemed to be a natural ability. _No stone then? They are no homunculi after all. But if not the stone – what else?_

"I have heard of a neighbouring country practising on the same basis as our methods with the exception that they have a better range and the ability and permission to heal superficial wounds. I do not know the details though, so I can't give you a better answer. My brother is currently travelling there to study their art and learn how to use it so I guess there might soon be a change in my homeland concerning this matter. Until then I'll just have to do with the theory. Speaking of which: What exactly caused the loud cracking noises when you dis- and reappeared?"

Ed sincerely hoped they would explain for some time. Because of all the talking he had done his stew was getting colder by the minute even though he attempted his best at finishing it before it resembled ice.

"I'm not sure..., " said Henry. Frowning a little he turned towards his companions, silently asking for input. After ten seconds, his wife showed mercy.

"I believe it's got to do something with the travelling speed. That, if you go fast enough, you cause the air to crack. Somehow."

"But you didn't just travel, did you? You went _through_ the wall, so you couldn't have possibly been transported as a whole on a direct way. I'm not even sure it would work this way if you were to deconstruct yourselves completely." _Because _that_ would just be _creepy_. _"The theory on the air makes sense though," Ed continued thoughtfully, "If you were to somehow press it into a really dense state and then released it, the particles that you set free would have an enormous speed. If they collided with others on their way I'm sure the process could emit such a sound."

"I... have no idea whatsoever what you might be talking about. Apart from transfigurations we don't usually bother with theories on magic or their formulas, even at school. We just... do... things most of the time. There are very few actually taking the time to go deeper into the matter and even most of those give up in the middle because they can't make heads or tails out of things. 'It's magic,' we say. And 'it's magic,' is all we need to know."

Needless to say, Edward had never, ever, encountered someone who shared this old man's way of thinking. Except maybe Mr. and Mrs. Aaron.

For alchemy understanding was the very first step to each successful transmutation. Without it, nothing worked! And here, this man was, claiming that they could do the most amazing things – transmutation, teleportation, levitation and maybe even 'getting-Al's-body-back-tation' – and didn't even know _how_ they did it. _That's... disconcerting. At best._

"I just realised," said Lucy and laid her spoon next to her empty bowl of stew, "didn't you say earlier that you walked here? I mean sure, you have great skills and such, but haven't you heard about Sirius Black? Walking around in these vicinities at daylight is dangerous enough with a wanted mass-murderer on the loose but camping out at night? That's not only foolish, but suicidal!"

The other two magicians had flinched at her revelation, eyes growing wide with fear at the realization and now all three of them were staring concerned at Edward. They grew even more alarmed when the alchemist didn't show any signs of fear himself no matter how much time they gave him to let it sink in. Finally Ed decided to free them from their tense postures and offered them a weak smile.

"I must admit that I have no idea who you are talking about," he decidedly ignored the astounded gasps, "I'm not from around here after all. But I can assure you that I have encountered mass-murderers in my past and so far none of them have managed to take me down. Is he notorious for sneaking up on unsuspecting, innocent mountain travellers or why do you think he would go through the trouble of killing one?"

"No. No, he's not. I guess coming from a different country doesn't guarantee to know about him but he is so infamous around here that we didn't take that into consideration. You are lucky though. He was captured just few days ago and brought to Hogwarts to meet his last fate in the form of a dementor's kiss. He did, however, manage to escape. Nobody knows how he pulled that off, but the headmaster as well as the ministry officials figured that it's highly unlikely that he stayed in the nearer surroundings of the schoolgrounds.

"He is not known for attacking travellers by the way. But then again you never know when it's about one of you-know-who's old accomplices. And he'd been in Azkaban for over a decade. He might be the first who ever managed to break out of there but I highly doubt that much of his sanity is left after that. Dementors suck out too much positive energy whilst enforcing the negative ones for a guilty soul to not at least crumble."

Edward did-not-know-who, but for now it was sufficient that he had apparently been the leader of a group of mass murderers. The ministry might be the same as the military back home and Azkaban sounded like a badass name of a prison. He did not know what a dementor could be or how they would achieve the mentioned things but from the description alone he figured it to be something he could not possibly want to meet. What bothered him though, was that those people here were talking so freely about it when he had never before heard any thing even close. And he had been in this country or at least near it for a while.

_Then again, maybe these pointy-hat-magicians have their own agenda._

But what he had heard was enough for now. It was time to get to know more that would bring him forth in his research for Al and even though his companions were not able to provide him with sufficient information on the working of magic they might still know some things about local legends. By now the food was long finished and all of their solemn faces were lowered and the lull in conversation stretched and stretched. _Time to change that!_

"I was wondering, you know, if you might know about local myths. Oddities or such that are unique to this place. Stories that are incredible. It's what I set out to search for after all." He had spoken as casually as possible but the impact on the atmosphere was still instant. The faces lit up at the prospect of a change in subject and the three magicians leaned forward in a conspirational manner. Before they could start though, Ed had already taken out his notebook.

"You don't mind if I write these down, do you?" Al _had_ 'trained' him to at least own a minimal level of politeness.

"No, not at all," Lucy smiled sweetly at him. "The most popular one would be the rumours about the shrieking shack. It's an abandoned building a little off from the main village and none of the villagers can recall that somebody ever lived there..." She trailed off.

Her husband picked up again: "However, there was a time around 20 years ago. During several years we would hear noises from within. I've never heard anything like it. Not before and certainly not later. It sounded like somewhat animalistic but also painful shrieks. We could hear crashes at night, as if wood was being smashed to pieces. Nobody ever found out what happened in there. It was semi-regular too. Usually once a month, but sometimes twice, at the beginning and the ending. No one was ever brave enough to approach the shack and the villagers maintained a save distance of at least 150metres at daylight too – and they still do, even though it has long since become silent." He trailed off.

This time it was the old man who picked up. Edward silently suspected that this way of telling the tale by switching the narrator every few sentences has been practised for quite some time within the village. "Rumours say there was a monster living inside and for one day only. Enraged by not getting out it would search for a way out trashing the furniture, search for something to eat just to find nothing. It would lay an egg from which a new monster would be born a month later, maybe eating its mother's corpse, maybe not. And the cycle would continue. Another rumour says that it was haunted by ghosts that came by in regular timegaps. Now ghosts in general are no unusual occurrence, of course, but if they indeed managed to produce such noises then they probably were to be feared. There were even more rumours, but my poor memory is failing me with the less interesting ones it seems."

"Has anyone ever been hurt during one of these nights?" Though he did not believe in ghost stories per se, these people in front of him sure as hell did. Best to go with it.

"No. Nobody ever got hurt. Such a lovely monster, isn't it? Wrecking havoc in its own house and leave the innocents alone. We didn't even need to bring sacrifices to appease it. I personally always though it to be a nice but poor hurting fellow that could not get out..."

"You did?" As the question was asked by her incredulous husband, Ed was glad that he wasn't the only one being slightly bewildered by this statement. To top it of, she nodded excitedly.

"Okay...so, uh, any other stories? Oh yeah! I just remembered that I had been following a legend up here." He made a show of flipping in his notebook to emphasize the truth behind his half-lie and stopped not far from the formerly used page. "Someone at the foot of the mountains said there was a stone here not that long ago. They called it Sorcerer's Stone. I got interested in it because the myth resembles one from my homeland concerning the descriptions of the artefact, just that we call it Philosopher's Stone. After our talk earlier I was wondering if it might be the same as with transmutation and transfiguration: that both describe the same and it's just different wording. Do you know about it?"

"Oh yes, of course we do. It's a legendary stone created by Nicholas Flamel that's said to turn lead into gold and that a skilled alchemist or wizard could produce a life-prolonging potion from it. To be honest, although the stone's abilities are pretty impressive, none of us really knew anything specfic about it until around two years ago."

Edward listened intently. Yes, this sounded like a Philosopher's Stone, alright. Every skilled alchemist could turn lead into gold but the theme of immortality or the wish to get as close to it as possible was definitely there. As well as, surprisingly, the mention of the term _alchemist_. This implied the chance that he might succeed on his quest even if he were to fail learning magic. Or even better, that he might not even need to try and save valuable time.

_I might just come back afterwards anyway to learn how to levitate stuff after Al's alright though. Rub it right under General Mustangs nose and swipe off that infuriating smirk._

Not knowing about the youths thoughts, Thomas continued with his tale: "During that time, Professor Dumbledore kept the stone at the school, Hogwarts, because he thought to be able to provide the perfect protection for it. But unknown to him, you-know-who had possessed one of his former professors and lured him away with a deception to peacefully steal it. He was stopped, however, by none other than Harry Potter."

This seemed to amuse the Aarons a great deal. "Imagine what face he must have made. First his never-failing-killing-curse gets rebounded off an infant the age of a baby, then the same infant manages to defeat him again during its very first year at school!" At this point, Lucy hardly managed to keep her fit of giggles under check anymore.

"Must have been a very impressive sight indeed," chuckled Thomas, "If you want to get any additional information, I suggest that you go and visit Hogwarts tomorrow. It's just a little ways downhill from here after all and even though the students and most of the teachers have already left the school, the headmaster might still be there. As for today though, I would feel highly uncomfortable if you were to camp outside and it's already getting late. Thus I ask if you would mind spending the night under this roof. Arranging things will be no trouble at all and whilst Jimmy is using my daughter's former room, the couch has proven to be very comfortable in the past."

That was a statement that Edward could affirm half an hour later, when Lucy and Henry Aaron had left for their own house and Thomas Lane had gone upstairs to his room. He stole one glance outside to see the formerly energetic Cornish Pixies sleeping away peacefully under the moonlight and lay down as well.

Thinking back, today had been more informative than he could have imagined.

_Magic, huh? Who would've thought? And if the stone has to be protected by high security it's unlikely that they use it in everyday life. _He paused a moment, then facepalmed._ Damn! I forgot to check what their 'wands' are made of. These can't be normal wooden sticks if children can't get them before the age of 11._

He continued on and on with his thoughts, mostly stepping on the same spot for extended periods of time.

He also wondered how far Alphonse might have gotten in his research on Xingese alkahestry. And then he wondered just how many stray kittens there are in Xing. And how many of those would fit inside Al's armour.

Because, without a doubt, all of them would find a place in that big heart of his brother...

* * *

**Author's note:**

I'd like to thank every single one of you for reading!

I had never intended for this chapter to become this long but the words just kept piling up and up and up. And now it's twice as long. I wouldn't mind if it was just this chapter, but my planning currently includes 21 chapters total and I might just add another 1 or 2 in-between. So I'm kinda scared now. ._.'

I'd love to know which ones of you realised that this was my very first attempt at writing fanfiction or that English is only my third language. Because if you did, then you can hopefully tell me what tipped you off so that I can improve it! ;) I'd really love to get hints on what was bad/good/average, 'cause I know I'm far from perfect and I don't have a beta-reader to correct me. Even comma placement rules or stuff would be helpful.

Oh and if any of you like to beta-read: I'd love the critics, especially since I'm quite displeased with the outcome of one specific dialogue from chapter two and could really need some help there. =/

**Clarifications for anyone who encountered understanding problems:**

(1) No snow in Hogsmeade

The village is made to be an all around the year snow covered place in the movies and its explanation is not 'magic does it' but rather 'its above the snow line for the whole year' – which makes it unreasonable to me, thus it's got a couple of snow-free months in my fanfic. Whilst Harry is climbing up steps at the end of the secret tunnel to the candy shop, he walked on even earth for a whole hour before that. When they go through the tunnel below the whomping willow there is no mention of difference at all other than walking below the surface and resurfacing. Not enough altitude difference to match the climate difference between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade from the movies, resulting in snow-free summermonths for the village.

(2) Al's and Ed's bodies

They did not regain their original body(part)s because if Ed really got his arm back it would have been mere bone and skin (like Al's), thus making it pretty useless in the final fight. Let's assume he didn't pull that senseless stunt to destroy Winry's precious automail because it's no use to survive just to get murdered by your own mechanic because you wrecked _yet_ _another_ baby of her.

(3) Cornish Pixies

Because I loved the scene in the second book and always wondered what happened to them. They got the wings from the movie because they just make them even more epic.

**As for the timelines**

1) It's manga-verse for FMA, not long after the Promised Day. This is important because I want to try to write Ed's characterization as he was at the _end_ of the story which not many do - and I thus lack in fanfic examples to rely on. Just to give you an idea: Ed was not that short for his age at the end of the series, he's easily taller than Winry, he only lacked height compared to adults (at least when wearing his elevator boots...), which is not that unusual for a mere 16 years old. Yes, it's funny to read his outbursts and he will get teased by Mustang at some points during the fic but it's a lot less often than usual.

2) It's the end of the third book for HP, which you probably noticed. Now I consider Ed merely following Harry and Co. for four years straight as boring; just to warn you. He'll get his own quests to solve and help them with theirs occasionally, resulting in maybe 2/4 years worth _direct_ interaction.

3) combined timeline

In this crossover Amestris and Europe exist in the same dimension/world but use different calendars concerning the count in years. This is because I seriously can't imagine Amestris to rely on a calender whose start date is the birthyear of Jesus Christ. Not with 'Father' pulling the strings for a couple hundreds of years and stomping down the Ishbalan religion around their Creator.

**Thanks again for reading and please consider to review.**

See you, hopefully, in the next part:

Chapter 2: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore


	2. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

No warnings this time.

(Number)-stuff will be explained at the end. Always.

"Abc!" - spoken words

_Abc!_ - thoughts

* * *

**Recap Chapter One:**

As the Elric brothers still need to find a way to return Al's body back to normal before time runs out, they decide to split up on their quest for information. Following a lead to the Philosopher's Stone and a strange accumulation of energy in the air, Edward Elric arrives at Hogsmeade village. An incident with Lockhart's Cornish Pixies has him get to know three of the local residents who reveal the existence of something they call 'magic' and share local legends about the Shrieking Shack and the Stone's attempted theft from Hogwarts.

* * *

**Chapter 2.1: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore** part one (1) (words: 6460)

It was a couple of hours later, on the very next day, that Albus Dumbledore walked from the Headmaster's tower towards the front gate of Hogwarts. The halls seemed eerily silent with all of the students gone and from this day on even the teachers would have left to visit their families for their much needed summer holidays. He had to wait a moment for the correct staircase to turn in his direction, then walked on downstairs, his shoes' clacking on the stone surface resonating back from the centuries old walls. It had been but a few days ago that the ministry officials had patrolled these halls, resembling to all the world chicken who had lost their heads, at the news of the notorious murderer Sirius Black first captured then escaped. He did not know, personally, where the supposed delinquents had flown to but he had faith in both him and his hippogriff that they knew how to cherish their freedom and would thus take extra precautions against getting caught. And in due time Sirius would inform him.

His steps had led him to the entrance hall and a smile formed on his old, wrinkled face when the first warm rays of sunlight tickled his skin. Whilst there were no students and their noises around, this meant at least that he could hear the birds' singing from the Forbidden Forest that got carried to his ears by the light morning breeze. He stepped entirely out of the castle and made his way down the staircase to meet up with Minerva, whom was the last to leave. They exchanged greetings with short nods, still smiling, and walked alongside each other in comfortable silence and a rather slow pace. Soon, they had crossed the distance to Hagrid's hut, then continued onward to the school gate a little off and only stopped once its shadow was cast upon them.

"It's been a nice year, Albus," said Minerva and broke the silence for the first time. "Nice and a little tense, if I may say so. I can only hope that these monsters will never make their way to our school again. God knows what the ministry thought when they sent them over."

He frowned a little. "You are right, Minerva. But in the end the minister will feel justified in his actions. Sirius Black was near the school and to all the world it must seem as if he was indeed after young Harry's life. It's rather troublesome that nobody would believe in his words just because he is mere thirteen years of age, but I'll be sure to mention the imbalance of having Dementors at Hogwarts during the next meeting with the school council. And of course Mr. Fudge will also be present to hear just what exactly the parents have to say on the matter."

Dumbledore's eyes were shining delightfully at the mere thought of it. _Maybe I shouldn't be so happy at the prospect, but he does deserve a wake-up-call concerning acceptable measures in the presence of my charges._

Minerva's concern had morphed into a tiny bit of amusement but it wasn't gone completely. "Let's hope that at least next year will be somewhat calm and without unforeseen surprises. I doubt that we could take another year with fear as our constant companion." She seemed very old all of a sudden. The memory of the opening of the Chamber of Secrets the year before and the just overcome tension summoned by the presence of the Aurors and Dementors showed not only in her slightly – and a little out of character – hunched posture but also in the increased number of wrinkles on her forehead. Bespectacled eyes met Dumbledore's in a silent search for reassurement.

"It seems that, in a way, I can ease your worries about the school being in danger next year. In fact, I have already started making precautions. As nothing is fixed yet though, and as it is supposed to be a surprise, I can't tell you the details right now." He was smiling a little regretfully at her raised eyebrows but his eyes were twinkling merrily at the vision that had been forming inside his head for quite some time. The last schoolyears had held an unusual amount of dread and fear indeed and he had thus begun to plan out how to lift his students' spirits a little. Whilst the Triwizard Tournament had not been held for over a century, he remembered it well from when he was still younger himself. (2) The excitement he'd felt when watching the last tournament, the motivation to improve his skills when he realized that he probably wouldn't have been able to perform a spell used by a current school champion... _Yes, this will ease their minds. And if we are careful with our preparations they won't be in any real danger. Not that we'd tell them of course._

"You will inform me as soon as things are fixed, though?" asked his friend.

He smiled reassuringly at her. "Yes, of course, Minerva. Do not worry and have a good time."

Minerva McGonnagall nodded for the last time, said her good-bye and Disapparated from the school grounds, leaving the old wizard standing alone out in the open.

He was just about to turn around and head back inside the school when a tug at a far-off corner of his mind alerted him that one of the wards was being prodded. Frowning, he stood still and focussed on the feeling. The barrier had not been penetrated yet and whoever was prodding did not seem intend on doing so either. It seemed more like the person was examining it: Poking from time to time at different places to see how strong and big the circle was. Whilst it was a relief that there were no ill intentions behind the 'attack', the fact which of of the many barriers of Hogwarts and its surroundings was concerned was worrysome indeed. A lot of people had tried to sneak into the Shrieking Shack in the past, not ever getting inside though, but never once had it been the anti-Muggle-ward that had reacted. Creating it had been a clear show of his own paranoia because 'No Muggles ever got to Hogsmeade,' which basically meant 'Why waste energy on something useless?' Non-magical persons could not access the train platforms or the Floo network, could not call for the Knight Bus and the skill of Apparition required not only the genes of a wizard but also years of training. The mountains were too hard to climb without magic, not to mention the many dangerous animals and booby traps that the wizards had installed there a long time ago; and he could not think of any other ways such a task could be accomplished.

_Maybe it's a mistake. A curious fox that explores near the village or a bird flying against it. But I thought I had erased that possibility when summoning the ward..._

Dumbledore was beyond confused and still thinking on what to do when the tug at his mind suddenly came to a stop and he silently sighed in relief. He did not get any further than one step downhill, however, as the assailant chose that moment to deliver a sharp blow to the ward. _I might not know who it is or what that blow was but I guess I better find it out soon before my barrier gets blown away completely._

A sigh later the spot he had occupied earlier was empty...

* * *

...And an other some distance away was filled when the Headmaster appeared in the middle of Hogsmeade mainroad. He had chosen to Apparate to the edge of the village rather than directly next to the Shack so as to not alert the intruder to his presence by his sight. A quick glace around him confirmed that the only thing slightly out of the ordinary was an assembly of villagers near Dogweed & Deathcap apart from which the street was deserted. _Maybe they have noticed something? _He was in no immediate hurry anymore as he had not felt any more jabs after the violent one and it wasn't that unlikely that one of the residents had noticed the Muggle and taken care of the issue in his place. He plastered the ever present smile on his face and approached the group with long strides, calling out good naturedly.

"What's the commotion about? Did I miss someone's birthday?"

Laughter greeted him back. "No, Professor. But you did indeed miss the most intriguing visitor Hogsmeade has seen for a while!"

He identified the voice as belonging to Miss Smith (_No, it's Mrs. Aaron now.) _and raised his eyebrows. "A visitor, really? What was so intriguing about him?"

"Ohh, such a lovely young man," joined Mr. Lane, "he helped catch Mr. Lockhart's pixies when they had escaped poor Jimmy here and did the most amazing Transfiguration I've ever seen in my entire life to their cages. Without wand or incantation even..."

"He didn't call it Transfiguration though. It seems they call things differently where he came from."

He didn't need to mask his genuine surprise as he turned to the younger man. "I take it he is a foreigner then, Mr. Aaron?"

"Yes, yes he is. A traveller following stories, that's how he came here. Just walking uphill, transfiguring the landscape as he needed. We asked how he could do something as foolish as that with Sirius Black on the run, but he had never even heard of him! Makes one wonder from just how far away he's come."

_Although this is the most interesting gossip I've heard in quite some time, I doubt it's the person I'm looking for. Even though the ignorance towards Sirius Black might point to him being a Muggle, none of them should be able to 'transfigure the landscape'._ He cast a quick, calculating glance in the general direction of the shack, then turned back to Mr. Lane.

"You said he did the 'most amazing of Transfigurations' earlier and it's got me really curious. Could you show me – and maybe Minerva at a later date?"

And the most amazing it was. According to the shop's owner and the Aarons he had only placed his hands to the ground, followed by a sudden burst of lightning-like blue energy. Then everything had melted and reshaped in high speed, before it ended as it was. Edward Elric, as he had learned, had transfigured the ground and four cages at the very same time with no apparent effort whatsoever and seemed to still be a teenager as well. Deep in his thoughts, Dumbledore followed Mr. Lane back outside to meet up with the others again. _But with great power comes great responsibility. I've already encountered a prodigy some decades ago. And look which path that one chose to follow. I won't do the same mistake twice and underestimate such a supposedly brilliant __mind._

"And where is our little genius now? Did he go to visit someone?" The four adults were standing in front of the cottage again.

"No. As Henry said earlier, he is just going after legends. He came here following rumours about the Sorcerer's Stone, though he seemed to know it as Philosopher's Stone, and we told him to go and visit you as you are the best informed on the matter," said Mrs. Aaron and waved her hand in the general direction of the castle.

Dumbledore's face didn't show any kind of reaction, but inside his head he thought that this didn't sound good at all. _Searching for immortality... _"So I take it he is on his way to the castle right now?"

"No, but he will soon be. He was also interested in local stories so we spoke about the sayings surrounding the Shrieking Shack," she paused slightly. "We didn't mention our suspicion on the ruckus being caused by a werewolf however. It seemed inappropriate and we didn't want to insult him unintentionally."

"Inappropriate? Insult him? Don't tell me he..."

Mr. Lane seemed genuinely down and looked at his bystanders for support. "Well we can't be too sure as we didn't dare to directly ask him. But he had yellow eyes. With the full moon having risen a whole of two weeks ago there was no way to tell by ourselves."

"More like golden actually..."

"Don't be ridiculous, dear, there is no such thing as golden eyes!"

"But you saw them too, didn't you? They had this shine to them... And remember when we were in the backyard at the cages? When the sun was setting, his hair seemed to glow golden too and I was sure I was seeing an angel!"

"There is no such thing as angels either!"

"So..." Dumbledore had to interrupt before the conversation went further away from the initial topic of concern, "did he behave even the slightest bit wolfish?"

"He had that predatory gleam in his eyes when fetching the pixies that annoyed him out of the air but I'd personally call that understandable. Other than that, the most fitting description would be insanely curious and knowledge-seeking."

"'Plucked them out of the air'?" he asked, surprised. "Why didn't he just freeze them?"

Dumbledore had expected another quick witted answer as explanation. A different spell maybe or that his wand had been taken away by a pixie. He was, however, met with stunned silence.

"I wouldn't know, Professor. I was inside helping Jimmy and taking care of the pixies that messed up my shop. The situation had already been cleared when I came outside again."

"I don't know either," joined Lucy. "...Now that I think about it... I've never seen him taking out his wand at all. He transfigured his mantle into a bag and stuffed all the troublemakers in his vicinity inside. It worked just as well so I didn't even think about it twice. Why do you ask?"

"Mr. Elric seems to be quite an interesting person indeed. So interesting, in fact, that I think I'll have a word with him. Where did you say I could find him?"

"The Shack," supplied Mr. Lane instantly. "He was intrigued by the mystery of it and wanted to take a closer look. He left just a couple of minutes before you arrived. We had assembled here to say good-bye to him and wish him luck."

"I'll be on my way then. Thank you for your time." All three residents were quick to assure him that it was nothing and that he was very welcome, but Albus Dumbledore only listened with half an ear, smiling out of habit.

He was too focussed on the enigma that had presented itself. From what he had been able to gather so far, a teenager had made his way to Hogsmeade. It was probable that he was a very skilled magician but the complete lack of wand and Apparition had him wonder. Edward Elric might also be a werewolf and, judging by his enquiry about the Sorcerer's Stone, seeking either power or immortality or both, which highly reminded him of young Tom Riddle. And last but not least there was the prodding on the anti-Muggle-barrier surrounding the Shrieking Shack. The building that he had confirmedly wanted to explore. _But neither magician nor werewolf would have triggered this particular barrier! I have installed others that would have warned me of either genetic code approaching and nothing happened. So _what_ exactly _is_ he?_

Approaching the barrier Dumbledore left his thoughts to themselves and paid increased attention to his surroundings. From his current point of view he could see nothing out of the ordinary. The Shack stood old, tall and shabby, a good 200 metres away from him. Nothing had changed and nobody except him was present. _At least I can't see anyone from my_present_location__**.**_

He made sure to stay outside of the wards' radius whilst circling the building because it was highly unlikely that anyone had passed through without shattering them completely. Wide eyed and with raised eyebrows he came to a stop on the other side. Nobody was here. And the traveller had not taken the direction of Hogwarts either. He would have had to pass through the entire village to do so which meant passing by the spot where he'd had the conversation with Mr. Lane and Mr. and Mrs. Aaron.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, concentrating on anything that he might have missed because there was no way that someone who had never heard of Apparition before just vanished into thin air.

"_...transfiguring the landscape as he needed..."_ is what they had said. Following a spontaneous impulse he looked on the ground surrounding the shack and searched for anything that might indicate a Transfiguration. A circular patch of earth around ten meters to his left was completely barren. It didn't stand out too much, as it was only one meter in size and fit in with the rest around it because the grass was still short and scarce after the long winter.

_Every ward has got a circular structure that starts at its zenith and drops down in a spherical shape until it reaches the earth. The created half globe thus does not continue underground. _

Dumbledore had never given this aspect of magical theory much thought before now. As far as he knew nobody had ever digged a whole just to overcome a barrier. Transfiguration of or the moving around of earth usually required more strength than what was needed to shatter the wall. So why take the complicated way that's considered a waste of energy when you could spend a lot less time and effort by simple force? _Because the constructor of the ward would never know you passed through when you decide to take on the challenge, that's why. Whoever you are, Mr. Elric, whether you did it knowingly or unknowingly, you just managed to outsmart the one wizard that's supposed to be the most powerful of the present time. _

One moment, the wind carried about the sound of a soft chuckle, the next the lone figure formerly standing near the abandoned shack had vanished from sight yet again.

* * *

_I needn't have hurried so much_, decided a comfortably seated Albus Dumbledore a few minutes later. Upon materializing at the Hogwarts front gates, he had walked towards the Whomping Willow as fast as he could. He found it standing old and tall as ever, the only movement coming from the few leaves that were shaken softly by the breeze. With nothing better to do, the wizard had decided to sit down a safe distance away on a stone that offered a splendid view of the violent tree and its hidden entrance. Contrary to his former estimation that had him had hurrying in the first place, it was a total of ten minutes later before any sign of additional movement could be made out.

The first thing to be seen was a golden head poking out of the hole. It turned around to the left and the right in a rather rapid succession that made its long ponytail swing accordingly. After a short nod to themselves, the figure then climbed out onto the surface and bent back in again to struggle with a rather large trunk that didn't want to fit as easily through the gap as the slim form of the person itself. Mission accomplished, the teenager stood to his full height and stretched his arms as far above his head as possible, inclining it towards the warm sunrays that he had probably missed when wandering around underground. He had just grabbed his trunk again and started to walk towards a nearby path leading to the castle when the tree above him sprung to life.

With no little amusement did Dumbledore listen to the surprised yelp the figure made before letting go off his luggage and leaping to the side, avoiding the incoming willow branch by mere millimeters. The show continued with a series of backflips, twists and duckings that were combined in what could have been a dance had it been a different occasion. All too soon did the foreigner deem that all things fun had to come to an end and jumped gracefully onto an approaching knob. He stayed there in a crouching position for half a swing and jumped off with the momentum on his side to safely reach a region outside of the crazy trees attack rangeand a mere three meters away from Dumbledore's resting spot. The youth was breathing a little heavily, but was not as out of breath as the Headmaster would have guessed after such a workout. He had not received a single scratch from the infamous tree either.

"That was quite an impressing show you did there," he commented lazily, watching his reaction over the brim of his half moon glasses. He did not have to wait long for the boy in front of him suddenly whirled around and immediately went into a defensive stance. Golden eyes that had narrowed to slits focussed on the old wizard, taking in every detail they could. Surprisingly enough, he did not draw a wand this time either.

After a minute of tense silence, the boy must have come to the conclusion that an old man sitting comfortably on a stone was not posing any immediate threat to his life and relaxed his posture slowly. He let out a shaky sigh, carded the fingers of his left hand through his bangs and mumbled something that Dumbledore could not be sure to have caught correctly due to his old age, but sounded suspiciously like 'scared the shit out of me, the old man'. He then suddenly lost all interest in Dumbledore whatsoever, looked around his feet, then back towards the once again motionless willow and dropped his shoulders in defeat.

Even though he had thus turned his back to him, the next sentence was spoken in so much annoyance that it was loud enough to be heard anyway. "Who the hell got the crazy idea to plant rampaging, violent trees that randomly attack passer-bys at the end of a tunnel?"

The grumbling ceased and Dumbledore thought he caught the sound of a soft clapping noise that was followed by the boy kneeling down. The ground started to emit an electric blue light that made its way towards the willows trunk and assembled in lightning like cackling around the formerly discarded luggage. The Headmaster stood and walked a couple of steps closer to the young man still in crouching position to get a better view of what was going on. _This is what the villagers described happened to the pixies' cages_, he mused and stared wide eyed at the small pile of earth that had risen beneath the trunk and was now moving it from his position near the hidden entrance towards the teen. Once outside of the blowing range of the Whomping Willow, the ground smoothed out again and Edward Elric straightened to go and pick it up. Throwing one last, distasteful glance back at the tree he turned around with his trunk in hand and focussed anew on the wizard.

At first, neither said anything. Both stood three meters apart from each other, assessing the situation carefully. Then...

"Hi."

Though Edward may have spoken first, his whole posture seemed to say 'Hey, don't think anything wrong here, I only started because I was bored out of my mind!' Dumbledore merely increased the twinkle in his eyes.

"Hello and welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Mr. Elric, I presume?"

Golden eyes blinked before they narrowed suspiciously. "How do you know?"

"I just returned from a quick visit to Hogsmeade," replied the ever smiling man, "after I felt the wards around the Shack being prodded. I heard the most intriguing stories on my way about one young Edward Elric and his help concerning Cornish Pixies. I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, by the way, Headmaster of Hogwarts."

Elric looked at him incredulously. "So you are the one who put up the barrier around that building? Don't tell me you were the one to plant a seemingly harmless tree that's definitely not behaving as innocent as it looks as well!"

"Looks can be deceiving, Mr. Elric."

"I'd say!" fumed the teen. "But if things are like that and you are indeed the Headmaster, then you surely know about the rumoured monster that hunted the shack two decades ago. Even though it seems to have been recently inhabited, the old signs of destruction were still clearly visible. Now why would you, a Headmaster of a school, tolerate such a potential danger at such proximity to your students?"

Dumbledore paused a moment, thinking. _He referred to 'it' as a monster. So either he doesn't know it's a werewolf's doing, or he thinks of them as such. But if that's so, then how do his eyes fit the equation? A metamorphogus maybe? But first the werewolf-theory._

"How else would he have been able to release his energy each moon?" He tried to sound soft and soothing to reduce the suspicion and hostility in his new acquaintance.

"...'He?' _He_?You're saying that as if this was concerning your pet dog. The claw-like patterns on the furniture looked more severe than that." Edward Elric looked genuinely bewildered at the sheer disconcern shown by the elder.

"Oh no, 'pet dog' – that would be Hagrid's way. Young Remus Lupin merely wanted to be properly taught how to use magic – and who am I torefuse a child the possibility to learn or to discriminate against minorities?"

"So there really wasn't anybody who got hurt by...'him'?"

"No, never."

That calmed him down considerably ("That's … good then, I suppose.") but he still remained apprehensive.

_The main question is still unanswered though._

"Can't you understand it?" He tried again.

"What?"

"Mr. Lupin's problem?"

"I don't know him or his problem so you will have to be a little bit more specific about your question. I don't even know why you would address an animal – which is the only known being to me that possesses such claws – by the title of Mister."

"I'm talking about the moon, Mr. Elric."

A pair of delicate and indeed golden eyebrows rose to disappear behind the long bangs.

"You mentioned that one earlier. What about it?"

Surely he couldn't be _that_ dense?

"When was the last time you were able to consciously admire the beauty of a full moon?" He was infuriating Mr. Elric, he knew, but the explanations could come later. For now, Dumbledore wanted to see just how much knowledge the young man really had – or how much lack of it.

"Just too weeks ago if I remember correctly. I fail to see the connection, however."

"That's very interesting. Intriguing even," he paused, thinking. "Then nothing out of the ordinary happened back then or anytime before? No? What's the colour of your eyes?"

"You are standing right in front of me so you tell me." The eyes had narrowed down at the same degree that his temper started to flare in annoyance. His voice had gone down a couple of notches as well and gotten a slightly threatening ring to it.

"They are yellow."

"I usually get 'golden' but I guess yellow will do. Thank you, Mister Obvious, really! Now what's this all about?"

"Oh I'll come to that in a moment, don't worry. I've got one last question though: Since when have they been this colour?"

"Since I was born, obviously. Duh. Got it from my dad, same as my brother. As far as I can tell it's in our blood so our children will bear blond hair and golden eyes as well. Now: _What about it_?"

He would clearly not take another stalling as an option. Dumbledore couldn't help but wonder briefly what exactly would happen if he ever lost his patience but decided that he could always find out later. For now, he had answers to give.

"You see...," he started, "in this country the ownership of yellow eyes is highly stigmatised as the genetic eye colours are limited to green, blue and brown in varying shades and mixes."

"If yellow is a non-genetic colour in this country, how can it be stigmatised? It should be non-existent."

"People get infected with something that most would call a disease. An incurable one in fact." He knew his voice had gotten a rather sad undertone because really, werewolves were hardly ever the ones to blame for their problems. And with potion research as far as it was now there wasn't much to fear anymore either. But Professor Lupin had had to leave the school anyways, as people nowadays had only faith in their own beliefs, regardless of what was the truth. He wouldn't only have to fix everything concerning the Triwizard Tournament but also find a suitable replacement for the position of the Defense Against The Dark Arts Professor.

By now the blond had finished his brooding. "You are saying that there is a disease that not only changes the _eye colour_ of a person but makes them react to the _moon_ in a _violent_ manner as well? And that this is what happened to the Lupin person you were talking about earlier?"

The switch from annoyed-Elric to thinking-Elric was so sudden and unexpected that Dumbledore faltered a moment in his response. The golden orbs were practically piercing through him in an attempt to get to the answer before it was even said out aloud. During the first part of the conversation he had thought Mr. Elric was actually rather slow on the uptake because he didn't get any of his hints concerning werewolves, but if he really didn't know about them he just might have judged too quickly. _These eyes_, he decided, _tell a completely different story at least. _

"Yes, that's what I was talking about earlier." He was still reluctant to give more information than absolutely necessary. If the teen was as sharp as he looked, and as Mr. Lane and the Aarons had implied, even the slightest bit of data would be saved away for later use. And who knew what kind of use he would make of it when he was searching for immortality?

"What kind of 'disease' are we talking about exactly?"

"A human's blood gets infected by some sort of virus when they are bitten by a werewolf. The virus reacts to the rays of the full moon and catalyses a transformation that lasts as long as the person is under the direct influence of the light. There has been a lot of medical research on the matter but no complete cure has been created as of now. The furthest the healers have come is the invention of the Wolfsbane Potion that permits the werewolf to keep their mind for the time of the transformation."

"Sounds like they should work harder."

"They do their best," he assured.

Mr. Elric rose his eyebrows a litte and answered in a deadpan voice. "Well, I'm certainly not a _werewolf_. Or any other wolf for that matter."

"I realized. You are not a wizard either." _And thus no metamorphogus._

"Yeah, that's correct. Until yesterday I was completely convinced that supernatural things such as 'magic' are nothing but old stories from fairytales made for children to create a safe place for their thoughts to wander off whenever they want to escape reality."

"That's a hard way to think about life."

"There is no such thing as 'soft' or 'easy' whenever life is concerned."

Albeit being a mere teenager, the boy in front of him definitely knew what he was talking about. He hadn't hesitated for even a second before answering and, as sad as this sounded to his old ears, there wasn't even an ounce of uncertainty about this matter in his voice.

"Do you know what is the commonly expected behaviour of a wizard that encounters a Muggle who has gained knowledge about magic?"

"What's a Muggle?"

"A non-magical person such as you."

For the first time during their not-so-small-talk, Edward Elric smirked. "Well, they obviously start a nice chit-chat-conversation on nice Saturday mornings, standing in nice, warm sunlight in a light breeze, explaining everything rather nice and patiently. At least when they don't ask nonsensical questions about the moon and eye colours. They could, however, consider to include nice, comfortable armchairs in the package as well, now that I think about it."

His own smile widened a bit in response. "It would seem like that, wouldn't it? But no. Usually we erase their memories."

That got his attention. "Completely?" came the incredulous, wide-eyed reply.

"No, just the amount of time that's needed to. At least if the wizard has time to properly concentrate on their task."

"Well, sorry to disappoint you but I did not come all the way up here just to have my memory swiped." He held his head high, stance a little widened, and looked at him defiantly.

"I thought you did not."

"Then what will _you_ do?" The suspicion hadn't disappeared.

"I think I will consider what you said about the armchairs. Would you like to accompany me inside, Mr. Elric? I'm sure we'll find a lot more to talk about."

A slight smirk returned. "Sounds good to me, Professor." His eyes, however, were still carefully watching his every movement, assessing whether the century old appearance in front of him was really as harmless as he seemed at first sight.

With the conversation ended, Dumbledore swiftly turned around to walk uphill and only set to a slower pace once they reached the castle, adjusting in advance to the expected awe that caught all of the first years upon setting their eyes on the interior. They had not shared a single word since their ascent started but both kept glancing at each other from the corners of their eyes whenever they thought the other wasn't looking.

_Wonder, what he thinks of me. To most Muggles I appear as nothing but an old man with a long beard and a strange choice of clothing. But he's been in the village already and he is more cautious than most..._

The teen was carrying his trunk in his right hand and had his posture straightened as if the weight of his luggage wasn't pulling him down in the least. He had raised a blond eyebrow at the sheer size of the castle, then given a miniature shrug and proceeded on as if it wasn't anything to be concerned about.

_Then again, it truly isn't._

Once properly inside, his cool outward attitude started to crumble. His left hand rose and pointed accusingly at the torches on the wall.

"As much as I appreciate your taste in armoury... aren't you going a little too overboard with the torches? A school isn't supposed to give off such creepy vibes!"

Dumbledores eyes twinkled in mischief. "'Creepy vibes'? Do they scare you? There is nothing inside here that is dangerous (_at least not after the Basilisk got killed..._), but I assure you that we even have proper ghosts hunting the castlehalls to match the theme!"

"Are you..." started Mr. Elric, but kept from actually voicing the 'insane' that would have obviously been the final part of the sentence. Instead he dropped his arm back to his side, threw a last murderous glance at the offending torches and swiftly crossed the distance to the Headmaster who then resumed walking. It was highly amusing from Dumbledore's point of view how the defiant young man from the willow was glancing around unconsciously as if expecting to get attacked every moment. He had set high hopes in his moving paintings after the reaction to the few, innocent, not-really-that-magical torches, but got disappointed when they were mostly sleeping in (_Probably enjoying the rare silence..._) and the few that weren't didn't do so much as curiously glance their way. The only entertainment that thus came out of it was to watch Elric inch away from the insanity on the walls trying desperately to not lose his composure. He was utterly disappointed when the moving staircases weren't even worth a mention.

The continued their walk until they met the entrance to the Headmaster's tower and even before Dumbledore could say the password he heard a good natured whistle that made him broaden his smile yet again. _Not the standard reaction to a gargoyle either. He wasn't kidding when he said he appreciates the armours._

Whilst the castle generally kept moving about, changing the level of the gargoyle as it went, the tower itself as well as the office always remained stationary. For the last couple of months the entrance had been on the second floor, so they now had to stand on the moving staircase inside the tower for five floors before they reached the circular room that was their destination. Dumbledore manoeuvred around the countless objects that made up his leisure activities and came to a rest behind his big, claw legged desk. Without much ado he sat down properly, swished the papers on top into neat stacks on the side and transfigured a nearby plain stool into a comfortable armchair.

His eyes searched for his guest and found him not inspecting his instruments and neither mesmerized by his beautiful familiar Fawkes, but totally consumed with the books on the shelf on his left side. _Curious choice but a dangerous one nevertheless. An unknown Muggle shouldn't be so close to my Pensieve._

"Please take a seat, Mr. Elric," he said cheerfully. "While as a Headmaster I usually encourage all kinds of reading, I was under the impression that we wanted to talk comfortably."

The blond head jerked violently to the side, ponytail swinging yet again and eyes wide with surprise. He blinked once then smiled apologetically. "Sorry about that, Professor. People tell me I tend to get engrossed in books too much all the time. Please don't call me Mr. Elric though, I'd prefer Edward or, even better, just Ed."

* * *

**Author's notes:**

So, this is the first part, the second comes in the next chapter.

The split was necessary because Ed would seem even more ooc if I continued on with Dumbledore's pov. And you got the update early! ;)

**(Number)-time:**

(1) Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Just because I love how long his name is. 35 letters is freaking awesome!

(2) Triwizard Tournament at Dumbles' time

This could or could not be true. It's written that the last one was held over a century ago and Dumbles is older than that as well so the possibility is there – but it's not confirmed. That's about all the backup that I can offer... I'm just clarifying this here so that nobody will automatically take it as J.K.R.-canon.

Thanks again for reading and please consider to review.

See you, hopefully, in the next chapter:

Chapter 2.2: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore part two


	3. Albus Dumbledore part two

No warnings this time.

"Abc!" - spoken words

_Abc!_ - thoughts

* * *

**Recap Chapter 1-2.1:**

As the Elric brothers still need to find a way to return Al's body back to normal before time runs out, they decide to split up on their quest for information. Following a lead to the Philosopher's Stone and a strange accumulation of energy in the air, Edward Elric arrives at Hogsmeade village. An incident with Lockhart's Cornish Pixies has him get to know three of the local residents who reveal the existence of something they call 'magic' and share local legends about the Shrieking Shack and the Stone's attempted theft from Hogwarts. Dumbledore, who felt the Shack's wards being prodded, investigated and met up with Ed at the Whomping Willow.

* * *

******Chapter 2.2: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore** part two (words: 5930)

The comfortable armchair he was sitting in right now had been wooden just moments before. He was sure of it. Light brown, hard, cold and uncomfortable without a single cushion, to be exact. And now... it wasn't. Edward had tried not to show any sign of surprise at these new forms of illogicality but it was getting harder by the minute. And lunch hadn't even rolled around yet.

He had gotten so used to being awakened by the unrelenting rays of the sun each morning that he had made it a habit to rise early during his ascent in the mountains. Mr. Lane's garden faced south, though, and not only did the sun reach him as it had all the other mornings, but the couch in the living room had turned out to be oh so very comfortable as well.

As such, he overslept. And that was only the beginning.

Next thing he knew the Shack was giving him a rather realistic show of what the Cornish Pixies had felt the day before, when they had bounced the cottage's ward. (_Surprise, pain, confusion, disorientation, annoyance, _his brain supplied 'helpfully' at the unwanted memory.) A tree had attacked him, he'd been called a werewolf and he was sure that those paintings before the living staircase and its guardian were _moving_. Last but not least, even his beloved books turned against him. 'Phoenix' Diseases and How to Treat Them' had only been one of the many titles that mocked his familiar logic.

And now a hard chair made of wood had been turned into a cushioned armchair made of leather.

_So yes, I was prepared that things work differently in these parts. But I had thought that, at the very least, Transfigurations followed the same rules as transmutations. Mr. Aaron had mentioned formulas though, so maybe it's just an advanced form?_

It was unlikely, he knew, but it was the desire to find something familiar that led him to these thoughts.

Sitting across from him was the 'knight in shining armour' that had appeared out of nowhere to come to his rescue. Granted, it was a _very_ old 'knight' with a silky blue robe-like armour-substitute that hadn't really _rescued_ him from the willow – but he seemed to be willing to have a decent conversation and maybe shed some light on the workings of magic.

Right now, he was the best he could get.

There was one thing about his new acquaintance however that put him off: a weariness that was remained in the old man's blue eyes, carefully concealed behind the old-fashioned half-moon glasses. When the intensity of the look directed towards him had only lessened somewhat, once it became clear that he wasn't a werewolf (_A werewolf! Of all things!_), it made him wonder whether the Professor wasn't at least slightly biased towards them as well. Now, sitting behind the enormous desk in the middle of all the strange devices, he looked calmly at him, serene even.

_Well, that's what I'd call an elaborate poker face._

He waited, patiently, for the man in front of him still owed him a reply.

"...It's not that bad of a character trait to have a fondness for books. I must insist on calling you by your last name though. It's custom at this school and, while you are not one of my students, old habits die hard," said Dumbledore a moment later, smiling apologetically. "Would you like to drink some tea?"

"I always thought nothing's ever too late to try, though I suppose it's alright." He considered the last sentence for a moment and frowned slightly. "I'm fine right now, thanks."

_And not stupid enough to accept food or drinks from someone who just told me a couple of minutes ago that the standard procedure would be evocating an amnesia..._

"What do you want to talk about first?"

The smile became somewhat strained. "I heard you are interested in what you call the Philosopher's Stone, Mr. Elric. As far as I understand, it is what has drawn you here. I suppose we could just as well start with this topic, unless you have other preferences?"

The look that the other man was sending him across the table was scrutinizing at best and Edward didn't mind the scowl that appeared on his own face at all. Inwardly, though, he heaved a sigh of relief.

The Philosopher's Stone. That was something he knew. Yes, it was blasted, dangerous, murderous even and most likely cursed – but it was something that he understood. With all that magical talk, the fantasy-creatures and the inanimate objects that moved of their own accord – with all of that surrounding him, and as strange as it might sound, the Philosopher's Stone was comfortingly familiar. And here he had been worried about how to approach the topic.

"No beating around the bush this time? Good for you, I was fearing this would turn out to be just as tedious as earlier. And yeah, you could say that the Stone's the reason I came here."

Dumbledore's ever-present smile had disappeared and it was enough to set Ed on edge. "Why are you after it?"

"Someone's got to protect it from falling into the wrong hands," he replied nonchalantly. He would not tell this man his reasons if there was a way around it.

"And your hands are the right ones?"

"Better than most, I'm sure."

His answers came without missing a beat but were closed off, unwilling to give out much information. As much as this pleased the teen, Dumbledore's blue eyes narrowed in concentration.

After a moment, the wizard leaned back in his chair and smiled again. "Well, well. I feel that I must inform you however, that it is totally unnecessary for you to protect it. It can't fall into the wrong hands anymore."

"Are you talking about this being the supposedly most secure place in the entire world?" He made a show of looking around and grimacing. "The villagers told me that all your high-end security was blown away by a bad guy who fooled you with one of the oldest tricks known to man. A first year student jumping in to save the day is not really what I would call 'sufficient protection', Headmaster."

Although the smiling didn't decrease in intensity, a slight frown could be seen forming on the man's forehead. "You make it sound like Harry Potter was just an eleven year old like any other."

Ed scoffed. "Lucking out as a baby doesn't make one a hero."

Dumbledore raised one surprised eyebrow. "I'm sure he would be glad to hear that in person seeing as he is quite annoyed by all the attention he had received. Even so, I can understand that you are unimpressed by his achievements as a baby and yet, ...you don't seem to be very fazed by his defeating Voldemort as a young teenager either."

"The Dark Lord?" he asked in an attempt to clarify whether they were still talking about the same person. Mr. Lane and the Aarons had only talked about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or You-Know-Who so Voldemort must be his real name. _But who in their right mind would name their child 'flying death'?With a name like that, things were bound to go wrong._

Edward leaned back in his chair as well. "Hm. If I had to guess I would say it was like this: young Harry Potter somehow got wind of what was going on. He was intrigued, but disregarded all forms of caution such as the adage 'curiosity killed the cat' and thus continued his research. He may have even dragged someone dear to him along for the ride in his excitement…" his eyes darkened a bit in remembrance of his own actions but he continued on without any other comment. "Once he found what was hidden here, he was amazed but was also pulled deeper in. Emotionally, that is; once the idea had implanted itself on his mind, he was unable to turn back.

"Then Mr. Potter lucked out again, realized that you had been lured away, and somehow came to the conclusion that he and whoever had been dragged in were the only ones that could save the day. Ever the idealistic eleven year old, he was overconfident in his own abilities and disregarded the severity of the danger he was walking into by sheer lack of knowledge and experience. Then he lucked out _yet again_ and managed to survive – though probably by a twist of fate rather than his own skills."

_The lucky bastard. _

"..."

Dumbledore was speechless. During the explanation, his white, bushy eyebrows had risen to his hairline and his mouth hung slightly open.

_I hope I didn't break him..._

"Anything I missed?" His highly amused voice managed to snap the man out of his inner musings.

"No, that was indeed quite accurate," mused Dumbledore thoughtfully. "Although I may have chosen a different kind of wording. He did 'luck out' as you were putting it for the most part but he still showed a lot of courage. And while it was partially grounded on stupidity and a youthful presumption he did what he thought was the right thing and he did it with all he had. I can't help but wonder though from the way you were telling this story: could it be that you are speaking out of your own experiences?"

"That's none of your business!" Edward snapped, having trouble keeping his volume in check. Even so, he couldn't tone down the blaze in his eyes. He might have avoided a direct answer but he couldn't have made the truth more clear, and upon that realization, his whole body tensed up as he realized just how much he might have given away.

_Don't give him time to dwell on it..._

"Back to the topic at hand: the Stone is not safe here, that much should be obvious."

"That's quite true. Two years ago my old friend Nikolas and I came to the same conclusion."

The statement confused Edward far more than it calmed him.

"...So?"

"So we decided to destroy it. Something that doesn't exist anymore can't fall into the wrong hands."

Any lingering signs of relaxation vanished as the young man before Dumbledore all but exploded. "Don't you _dare_ bullshit me, old man! A true Philosopher's Stone can't be destroyed. You can use it, yes. You may even say it can be killed. But you cannot _destroy_ it," he fumed.

He was not a kid and he was most certainly not a fool. And if the 'old, wise wizard' thought of him as such, thought he could outright lie to him instead of taking him seriously... Well he would show him how wrong he was.

"...Killing...? That's the first time I've ever heard of someone referring like that to such an action with an inanimate object. I can assure you, however, that we did not do a 'cruel' thing like this. We merely released the energy that was contained," said the Headmaster in such a calm and slightly confused voice that led Edward to doubt his earlier theory of not being taken seriously.

"Do you... " Formerly blazing gold seemed to suddenly switch between shocked, confused, disbelieving and afraid. He searched Dumbledore's eyes in hopes to find … something. Truth, maybe. "Do you … even _know_ what this energy _is_? Or are you really that ignorant?" His piercing gaze had settled for 'indignant' by the end of his short speech.

"I don't understand why you would be so thrown off by this. As far as I know the stone is condensed magical energy. I may not know the specifics behind the construction of it, but of this I'm sure."

"Is... there anywhere where I can read up on that?"

"..."

"...?"

He needed to be sure. If what the Headmaster had just said was true – and he seemed to be completely honest and genuinely bewildered at his outburst – if it was true... And if the Sorcerer's Stone was really made of nothing save for 'magical energy',... and if it contained enough power to need to be locked away behind high security measures...

_I shouldn't get ahead of myself..._Truly, he shouldn't, considering he hadn't received an answer yet.

He watched as Dumbledore took a slow, steady breath, leaned back completely and regarded him sternly over the brim of his half moon glasses. With the low voice that he only ever used for the gravest of issues and that contrasted so much to his usual cheerful way, he answered, making sure to express the intended finality of his words. "I don't think that the world needs someone else who knows the secret of the stone. Nikolas and his wife _died_ half a year ago, in the peaceful knowledge that this secret would die with them. We even destroyed the stone to ensure that it could not fall into Voldemort's hands and Nikolas himself assured me that his texts on the subject were to never be found out by anyone. I don't care why you seek this knowledge, but rest assured that even _if_ I knew where his notes were I would not give them to you. For the sake of my friend and the Wizarding World as a whole."

Elric blinked. Once. Twice. Then a grimace distorted his face. "Oh don't worry about that," he answered. "I already know how to create a Philosopher's Stone so that's not what I would have been looking for in his research notes." He wondered briefly if he was going too far with his information but the decline had held no place for arguing. The hopes, though, the hopes that there might be a stone as powerful as the Philosopher's without the stipulation that he sacrifice lives when obtaining and using it was enough to loosen his mouth. So he continued.

"...And as I'm not the only one who does, I fear that your dear friend and his wife died, unknowingly believing in a lie. All your Dark Lord would have to do is look beyond his own nose and take what's there. He wouldn't even have to learn how to do it either as he could always just grab the existing stone."

He had a look on his face that was meant to tell Dumbledore that he knew he had just dropped a bomb. The very bomb that he hadn't wanted to share at the beginning and the wizard's gaze reflected that knowledge.

"_You_ know how to create a Philosopher's Stone?" he asked with unmasked incredulity. "_How?_ You are only a teenager. And what do you mean by, 'just grab the existing stone'? It's bad news that there's still one out there but this sounds as if it's not even properly guarded. And you are lecturing _me_ about appropriate protection and not letting it fall into the wrong hands?"

Edward was sure that there must have only been a few instances in the Headmaster's life where he had been this agitated. Despite this, he needed to be given some credit. Had he been in his place Ed probably would have jumped out of his seat and grabbed the bringer of the bad news by the collar, daring them to repeat the message.

The shock hadn't worn off, so he took his chance to get some words in.

"And Mister Harry Potter is 'only a teenager' as well, isn't that correct?" he continued quietly. "And has still managed to do what a lot of adults hadn't achieved... right? As for the stone I assume that the mere fact that Voldemort _doesn't_ know of its existence – heck, that you are probably the only wizard that currently does – is enough of protection right now." At this he interrupted himself for a short moment to recollect his thoughts. His golden orbs were fixed on an imaginary point somewhere to the left of the Headmaster. After a minute, the youth continued; this time at an even slower pace.

"Whether it's in the 'wrong hands' or not is a difficult matter, as it's in the hands of the person who created it. Dr. Markoh is, no matter how you look at it, a mass murderer. But this happened long ago and although he knew that he can never fully atone for his sins, he is presently trying his best to right what has been done wrong." He returned his gaze to meet Dumbledore's wide, blue eyes and continued on. "A Philosopher's Stone amplifies one's abilities and the last one in existence is currently used to amplify the doctor's healing skills in a region that had to suffer a lot of war in the past decade. I might have hated him at one point, and a part of me still does, but I can't ignore what he has done during the last few months..." He sighed. "And just like everyone else I'm willing to give him a second chance."

Albus Dumbledore was silent for a long time. _He's probably assessing the information_, thought Edward, and held still whilst the other was watching him with carefully concealed calculation. He was sure that he was being searched for any signs of traitorous behaviour, and was as certain there would not be a single hint that would suggest duplicity. No fast blinking eyes. No insecure hand movements. No waver in his voice. No irregular breathing.

Edward was relieved when he, himself, found a flicker of fear in the old man's eyes in the moment that he came to the same conclusion. This was no lie to get to the research notes. This was reality.

_This was the Truth._

"I suppose there's nothing I can do but trust your judgement for now," Dumbledore conceded at last. "If what you say is true though – if you don't only know how to create a Philosopher's Stone but also know the location of one and its lack of safety – then, apart from actually posing an immediate threat _yourself_, I don't quite understand why you would want to read Nikolas' notes." He regarded the blond suspiciously. "_What_ do you want to gain from them?"

_My brother_, was the first thought that crossed his mind._ If I say that I can just as well say that we tried to resurrect our mum, failed spectacularly and burned our house down. And I could just add that I've been with the military for a couple of years. Yes, that will make me look so much more trustworthy! _

"..."

"...?"

The silence seemed to stretch for yet another eternity whilst Ed thought about an answer. His golden orbs had been averted completely and were now intently studying the left claw like foot of the desk. His mouth had formed into a thin line and he was sure that Al would chide him for the deep frown that seemed to have planted its roots on his forehead.

" I … want to see whether what you indicated earlier is true," was what he settled for in the end. It wasn't an answer, but it gave him a little bit more time to think.

"Which is?"

"... Back in the village, Mr. Lane did not use the term Philosopher's Stone." Finally, Ed raised his eyes to meet his gaze again. "He called the stone that was nearly stolen from Hogwarts a 'Sorcerer's Stone'. Because of the similarities concerning immortality and alchemy I _assumed_ it was a mere difference in vocabulary. But then you said a Sorcerer's Stone could be destroyed. That you merely released the energy," it took him a moment to continue, "and this might indicate that they aren't the same after all."

"You mean to say," asked Dumbledore tentatively, "that there are two _different_ stones that can grant someone immortality?"

His temper flared again. "Don't be stupid! A thing such as real immortality doesn't exist! The fact that Mr. Flamel died shortly after the stone was destroyed proves this without a doubt."

"Then why is it important to know whether both are the same or not?"

_Here comes the tricky part._

"There is something I need to do and I need to use the stone as a power source," he answered reluctantly. "Just because I know how to create the Philosopher's Stone or just because I know where to find one doesn't mean I actually _will_ create or use it. I've used the stone once, and that was only so lives other than my own would have been saved. But there is _no way_ I'm ever doing that again."

_Never. Again._

Dumbledore blinked, taken aback, but continued to press forward. "You look positively disgusted by the thought. What's holding you back exactly?"

"Morals."

Edward met the gaze again and smirked slightly internally. _Payback is sweet_, he thought, remembering how alike this conversation was to the one about the werewolves. _The difference is that the roles are reversed this time around. _

"Please explain."

"..." _Wonder how long it would take _him_ to snap?_

"...!"

There was no real need to hide much longer though. He had known from the moment he spoke about Dr. Markoh that he would have to lay most of his cards on the table. And he would not get on the Professor's good side by annoying him even further.

So, taking a deep breath, he tensed his shoulders and prepared for what was to come.

"The power source of the Philosopher's Stone is souls. Human souls. Yes, you understood that right, its main ingredient are living humans."

"That's..."

"That's why Dr. Markoh is a mass murderer."

"So when he uses it..."

"The souls get consumed."

"And you let him do so freely!?"

The statements came bullet-like and, contrary to the first time Dumbledore had been shocked, this time the Professor had actually risen from his seat at his last question. His blazing eyes were boring right into him.

"Please let me explain," Ed carded his gloved left hand through his bangs in a poor attempt to calm his nerves and held his right up in a sign of surrender. "These souls don't have a body anymore. They have nothing except their own agony. They …" it was hard to find the words, really. "They live in a swirl with the other souls, not knowing where their own personality starts or ends. 'One is all and all is one' takes on a whole new dimension in there! 'Life' as a concept gets blurred."

"That's … unbelievable." The tension seeped out again. A loud thump was heard when the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry let himself fall backwards into his seat once more. His face was ashen, the regular twinkle gone from his eyes.

"But a sad reality nonetheless..." It was a rather poor attempt at being consoling, but what was he supposed to say when _'sad' _didn't actually even begin to cover it?

"..."

"You can see now why I won't ever use it though."

"Yes, indeed."

_At least he found his voice again. Time for the next step._

"And you see why I thus want to read up on Mr. Flamel's notes?"

"Actually... yes I do. I'm quite interested in those notes now myself. If what you say about the Philosopher's Stone is true and if it turns out that the stones are, in fact, similar... But Nikolas never seemed to be a cruel person." He paused a moment to organize his thoughts. "What I _don't_ understand is what exactly you 'need to do' that requires this much energy."

_Damn. He just had to remember _this_ part. Now: How to phrase it?_

"I want to … cure my brother," he decided on and shifted a bit in his chair. "It's not really a disease but he can't eat, sleep, swim, feel..._live_ as he is now."

"I take it then that he has fallen into some kind of comatose state?"

"No, it's hard to explain." He paused to choose his words carefully. "...His soul was separated from his body. Both are still alive but I need the energy to connect them properly again."

Dumbledore blinked, astonished. "Is that even possible?"

Edward wasn't sure which part he questioned in detail. _That they live apart from each other? That they got separated in the first place? Or that they can be reunited again?_ He decided for the last one as that's where the stone would come into use.

"Yes, the mind link is still intact – and in a very good shape too. I only need to pull his body back towards his soul. You may look sceptical now, but I can assure you that I completely know what I'm talking about and how I can make that work. The problem is that the only solution we could find back home was the Philosopher's Stone. Al and I agreed to never use it for our own purposes so we both went away to foreign countries to find an alternate method. If the Sorcerer's Stone holds as much as its counterpart, but doesn't include the need to sacrifice others, then I just might have found the very way to save him. He's only got around three years left before it will be too late."

"I see." Despite the admission, Ed could clearly see him frowning."What makes you think you could create Nikolas' stone though? It's probably called _Sorcerer's_ Stone for a reason and you aren't a sorcerer. You are a Muggle – unable to operate magic."

It took a full ten seconds for the blond to assess this information. He tilted his head sideways, chewed slightly on his lower lip and answered slowly. "But did I understand it correctly that there was a reference to alchemy in the legends surrounding your stone as well?"

Dumbledore blinked, obviously thrown off. "Alchemy? Yes, I think there is. Here, alchemy as an art is dead and I personally think that the ability to turn lead into gold was only woven in to make it appear even more valuable. Humankind has always been rather greedy so it was sure to attract more attention this way."

An amused laugh rang through the office. "Turning lead into gold is no big deal for any skilled alchemist!" (_Wizards!)_ "It's only forbidden out of fear of economical inflation. As for alchemy being a dead art; that must have been the funniest thing I've heard the whole day." (Granted, this wasn't particularly hard as he hadn't heard anything funny before that at all, but it was still true.) "Alchemy is not dead and neither are alchemists. I guess it's just the wizards that are blind to any development that is linked to 'Muggles' in any way," he paused, still smiling, and continued on teasingly. "You don't use light bulbs even though this castle is really dark so I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. Maybe Voldemort isn't the only one who should look beyond his nose from time to time?"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "The problem with the light bulbs is that electricity doesn't work inside the castle. The students are here to learn how to do magic, not to talk about Muggle inventions."

_As if! All the signals sent out by your brain are electrical impulses. Your own body wouldn't be able to move, or live for that matter, if it wasn't for this minimum of electricity and yet you can still live inside the castle without any problems! _He didn't say it aloud, as it could easily be taken as an insult, but the fact amused him greatly. He couldn't say he knew what exactly was interfering with the light bulbs, as he didn't even know what 'magic' really was, so maybe it was better that he kept his mouth shut.

"Well if you say so. Others say that the brain itself works on electricity but I, of course, wouldn't know."

The bushy eyebrows rose again. "I'll ...keep that in mind. As for alchemy, I'm not very knowledgeable on the matter but I was always under the impression that it revolves about turning one material into another by various experiments that include a lot of potions..."

This time, it was the teen's turn to blink, dumbfounded. _Potions?_

"Um...not really. It's a science, all right. The short definition would be that alchemy is 'the knowledge, analysis and recreation of the laws and currents that exist within substances', with the application of such knowledge called transmutation. It would take eternity to fully explain right now but I'm sure that everyone, wizard and Muggle alike, has got the potential to learn it, granted that they put a lot of time and effort into their studies. The main point is that it is by the use of this _science_ that my people created the Philosopher's Stones. There wasn't a single magician included. It may be that magic is the key to the Sorcerer's Stone in the end but for now I've got to have faith that my skills as an alchemist will be sufficient to succeed," Ed ended, smiling not only at his own confidence but at the pleasant familiarity of yet another topic close to his heart.

"These skills as an alchemist you just mentioned, or alchemy... they wouldn't have anything to do with the way you transfigured the ground by placing your hands on it, would they?"

He beamed. "That's exactly what I was talking about! But it's called a trans-_mu-ta-tion_."

"And you are absolutely sure that everyone can do that if they try hard enough?" A pair of sceptical, bushy, silver eyebrows rose to new heights.

Edward had to think for a moment. How would he know if a wizard could perform alchemy when he had just learned about their very existence the day before? And what did it matter anyways? He frowned.

"I haven't heard of a single person who really tried to learn alchemy and failed to get even the slightest reaction. There are differences in style, preferred materials, delicacy of work and size of the resulting objects, yet so far nobody was actually 'unable' to apply the basic theory. As for wizards I'm not sure," he conceded. "For one, I don't know what makes the difference between you and me so maybe that could interfere. For the other, magic seems to boost laziness, at least physically. I mean, nobody ever climbs these mountains since they can teleport? To train the mind you first have to train the body after all. Apart from that, alchemy is limited to transmutations that literally require _years_ to learn. I'm not sure if a wizard who is used to just waving his wand and making things _happen_ without knowing _how_ would sit down, learn the elements and their properties by heart and calculate for hours just to transform _one_ object."

"I can see your point and have to admit that the thought of spending this much time on one activity would indeed put most wizards off," he smiled. "In the future, you will have to choose carefully who you are confiding in though; especially when you might end up interacting more with our culture. You took the chance of telling me because I refused you in the beginning, but Voldemort is cunning and you never know who favours him."

Again Voldemort. And again Ed wondered why they were talking so much about him when he was supposed to be gone. And then there was something that wasn't stated explicitly but caught his attention nevertheless.

"You will let me walk around and talk to people even though I'm a Muggle who is supposed to get their memory erased?" Needles to say, Edward was baffled. Sure, he had been trying to get Dumbledore on his good side by being honest – well, as honest as not mentioning how Al got in his 'state' could be – but so far he had received no equal feedback from the Professor's side.

"I will be honest with you, Mr. Elric..." (_Finally!_) "I do not trust you completely. In this world, where wizards have kept to themselves for the last couple of centuries, you and your alchemy are a completely new occurrence. You are a wild card that I cannot put into any category I have ever encountered before. Even more so with your extended knowledge on something this powerful and dangerous... And yet, your request seems sincere. This is curious, very curious indeed. I will not decide right now – in fact I am not even in the position to decide. The first place to look for Nikolas' notes is his old home which has been abandoned after his death, so I would have to go and look for the person who is in charge of taking care of it right now, and convince them that I still have to do some business inside.

"I will need time to mull over what you have just revealed to me so as to decide how far I can trust you, as well as find and get into contact with said person. If you are willing to wait for my answer, then I suggest that you stay inside the castle for the next few days."

Edward raised a single eyebrow. "Do I have a choice?"

"Oh!" said Dumbledore, this time delighted. A mischievous twinkle had returned to his azure eyes and Ed couldn't help but become wary. "Of course you have a choice, young man. You always have. I just didn't mention it as you seemed to dislike it so very strongly earlier..."

His second eyebrow went up to meet with the first.

"...But I can always erase any and all memories relating to magic, Hogwarts, wizards and the Sorcerer's Stone," finished the Headmaster.

Both eyebrows dropped simultaneously when the blond let his face fall into the most deadpanned expression he could muster and didn't even think about deigning the very amused Dumbledore with a reply.

_As if!_

"Very well then, I'll have your quarters be prepared. As of now, I could personally do with some food. Will you join me for lunch?" He rose from his armchair and made his way around the desk and the many devices scattered around the room. He flicked his wand at the armchair Ed had been occupying before he had followed Dumbledore's example, and transfigured it back into the wooden, cushion-less version it had been before. Ed pointedly looked away.

* * *

They had barely passed the gargoyle when the Headmaster turned to him again.

"Mr. Elric, what do you think of chamber music?"

_...What?_

"What?" _Talk about bringing up random topics._

"Chamber music. Or music in general," his host replied patiently. "I believe that it's a magic beyond all we do and teach here..."

"..." Edward didn't answer, but then again, he didn't need to.

They continued on their way accompanied by the cheerful voice of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, talking about his favourite sonatas, composers and instrumentalists and how Edward should listen to the European classics while he still had the chance.

Ed in turn just hoped that the dining room wasn't too far away.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

It's done. Finally. I hope it's not visible just how much trouble I had with this one. óo

I didn't know it wasn't possible to review twice to one chapter and so on, so I had merely updated the second chapter at first. Sorry if this caused any invonveniences. :/

Also, I guessed there might have to be an explanation-dialogue in every crossover, I just never realized how boring it is to actually write it. It got my spirits up for the next chapter though. ;)

Did the Pov-change succeed in decreasing the ooc-ness?

There are two or three (part)sentences that are taken directly from the originals, but as the disclaimer from chapter one applies to the whole fanfiction I will not state them explicitly. If anyone wishes to know though, I'll gladly send them over.

There also wasn't any particular reason for the last part other than me having a little fun. It might be referred to in the future though.

Special thanks to _Gift of the Dragons_ who not only beta-ed this part but also introduced me to the crazy world of 'capitalizing-words-in-the-HP-universe' - and also special thanks to every single reviewer. You are all keeping me motivated. :)

**(Number)-time:**

No numbers this time. D:

Thanks again for reading and please consider to review.

See you, hopefully, in the next chapter:

Chapter 3: Haunted by ghosts


	4. Haunted by Ghosts

Warnings to all of you who are afraid of _ghosts:_ there'll be ghosts doing...ghostly things. Floating around and so on.

The ghost I chose never even got a single sentence of speech in the whole series and I thus guess I took great liberties concerning his character. As you may have different characters in mind for him, he might seem _ooc_.

"Abc!" - spoken words

_Abc!_ - thoughts

* * *

**Recap Chapter 1-2:**

The Elric brothers still had to find a way to return Al's body back to normal before time ran out and decided to split up on their quest for information. Following a lead to the Philosopher's Stone and a strange accumulation of energy in the air, Edward Elric arrived at Hogsmeade village. After a brief introduction on magic, Edward explored the Shrieking Shack and found an underground tunnel bypassing the wards of Hogwarts. Upon meeting up with Dumbledore, both agreed on Ed staying in the castle for a couple of days before possibly going to visit Flamel's house.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Haunted by ghosts (1) **(words: 11734)

"... and thus I want to ask you to keep an eye on him," finished Dumbledore.

He had been walking around his circular office rather restlessly during the last thirty minutes, trying to get the silvery figure floating in midair to understand the situation. Now, finally, he stopped his pacing and turned around to look straight into the Bloody Baron's blank staring eyes.

"I can understand why you need a ghost for this..." (Indeed, he could. Who better to spy on a Muggle than someone invisible to their eyes?) "...but there are twenty of us housing the castle. Wouldn't someone less … raucous be more suited to do the job?" the Baron asked and rattled lightly with his chains for emphasis.

His emotions were in disarray. On the one hand he didn't like the idea of having to watch over some Muggle, especially for 'a couple of days'. On the other hand, however, he felt a little charmed by the fact that he was the Headmaster's first choice. It was rare that he got approached by anyone, living or dead alike, and he had been more than surprised when Dumbledore's Patronus had appeared in the dungeons and asked him to come here. He might not have known what to expect, but with the exception of the Squib currently holding the position of school caretaker... he could not remember a single non-magical being having resided inside Hogwarts. Not even once during the many centuries he had been living here.

_Atoning here._

"I have complete and utter faith in your skills with the chains, my dear Baron," interrupted Dumbledore his thoughts merrily. "After having carried them for nearly one millennium I'm sure you can be as silent as the night if you want. The main reason why I chose to ask you is your … skill in controlling our local poltergeist. Even if I don't know for sure what his character is like, I want Mr. Elric to have a pleasant stay at Hogwarts. He is our guest and although he seems to be quite confident, I wouldn't bet on him staying calm and collected if Peeves was to find out that he can prank him without being seen." He chuckled then, but the Baron could detect the worrisome frown hidden underneath the happy façade.

* * *

In the end, he had accepted the task. There had been no _valid_ reason to do otherwise as his charges of the House of Slytherin had all returned home for the summer holidays. Nobody needed to be shown to the next classroom. Nobody needed help with their essays on History of Magic or Potions. Nobody needed to be saved from Peeves... Because there wasn't anybody for him to play pranks on, after all.

Or so he had thought.

_A Muggle_, he mused in an attempt to wrap his mind around the new information. _A Muggle inside Hogwarts._

He had lived his fair share of centuries and, except for Filch, the Squib, hadn't encountered any non-magical humans in all this time. He hadn't wanted to. He had been taught under Salazar Slytherin himself and was the resident ghost of his House. As such, it was only natural that he was grateful for his House's affinity towards pure-bloods and half-bloods; and generally avoided contact to Mudbloods.

_But Edward Elric isn't even _that_. He is a _Muggle_!_

It was hard for him to believe. He had seen the signs over time but refused to interpret them properly. It was known to all of the ghosts that the current Headmaster of Hogwarts had taken a liking to things that were directly or indirectly related to Muggles. Why else would he choose Lemondrops as a password for his office entrance? Or frequently go bowling, as one of his colleagues had felt needed to inform him on, a couple of months ago? It was hard to miss the increasing numbers of witches and wizards with non-magical backgrounds too. Or the fact that Muggle Studies was still being offered as an elective course. Or the Squib-caretaker. Or...

_Or a Muggle staying inside the castle_, he thought grumpily once again, finishing the circle in his mind. _That's topping everything!_

Now, one may think that this shouldn't affect him so much. That, having been on Earth for so long, he wouldn't even care anymore about minuscule trivialities such as a single human's presence.

But that was just it.

Apart from his beloved fiancée who didn't so much as care for him... there was nothing left. Nothing but the present. He knew it would be like this one day. Had known it when he decided on becoming a ghost, decided to wander this planet for eternity in a never-ending quest of redemption. At first, there was the illusion that he could use the chance to change Helena's mind. To have her fall for him. That, given time, he would be happy.

_How naïve I was! As if anyone would ever fall in love with a dead man. The very man that had killed them. A soul without a body. Without a future to offer. _

He had decided to stay at Hogwarts nevertheless. Near her. Showing her how much he regretted his actions. Mourning over the lost possibilities, wearing long, supposedly heavy chains to constantly remind him of his errors.

He couldn't even feel their weight.

It was her. Has always been. Will always be. For her, he would do anything. And if he had to observe a Muggle to be able to stay near her, then he would do so. Would swallow down his pride and obey the Headmaster. As a ghost, and especially as the one connected to one of the Houses, he was allowed to float through these halls.

As long as the Headmaster tolerated him, the ancient magic of the castle would as well and that was why he couldn't bring up his resentments in Dumbledore's office.

Nothing but her and the present were important anymore, and the 'present' was his task to find and spy on a very elusive Muggle.

_Not here either_, thought the Baron irritably whilst quickly dipping straight through the stone floor below him. He was on his way to the kitchens right now, passing the paintings on the walls in a flourish, and took another sharp turn to the right. No human that was still in the possession of a body could have taken the route he had chosen, but things like that hadn't managed to bother him in quite some time. _There are perks to being a ghost_, he mused, _and disadvantages as well._

Apart from his non-existent love life, that never would exist, one of the 'disadvantages' he was referring to was the sight of delicious meals being prepared right in front of him. He could _see_ the turkey over there and the mashed potatoes, the carrots, the rabbit and ooh the desserts. He could _hear_ the swish of the oil in the frying pan, could _hear_ the chucking of the knives, the fast taps of small feet on the ground.

He could watch.

He could listen.

But never again would he be able to _taste_ the pie on the counter to his left, to _smell_ the herbs in the soup to his right, to _touch_ the wobbly form of the strawberry jelly on the table right in front of him.

_Never again._

And he had enjoyed the good, extended feasts with the rest of his wealthy family when he had been alive, too. These memories were the reason he didn't usually visit this part of the castle. It reminded him too much of what he had lost so long ago...

_My very own fault_, he chided himself silently as he took no notice of the creatures below him hurrying to bow deeply at his entrance.

From his privileged spot above the small, yet diligent house-elves he tried to locate the one he had come to find. Average size, wearing a rag with mostly blue spots on the front – from the time blueberry cake had been splashed on it by that utterly uncivilized Peeves – male and going by the name of Bane(2). Not that he cared; a servant was a servant, after all.

The elf in question was the one that had been appointed to the task of bringing the foreigner to his new quarters after he had finished eating lunch with Dumbledore. But when he had checked there on the way, the rooms had been empty except for an old, huge trunk next to the four-poster bed, the cupboard, the small table and its adjacent chair. After not finding their 'guest' at his first try he had made a quick detour around the neighbouring quarters to see if he could be found there, but came up empty-handed yet again.

_If the elf was still there by the time he left, the Muggle might have told him where he wanted to go._

He couldn't be too sure before having actually talked to the servant though. Right on cue, the nearby door to the storage rooms opened to reveal a group of five pointy-eared cooks carrying different kinds of fish. _There's nearly nobody staying in the castle right now but they still give their all to create an exceptional dinner. The half-giant will probably eat nearly all of it,_ thought the Baron. That was another point he didn't want to focus on. Giants. Inside Hogwarts. Not to mention the werewolf! But at least that one was gone again, hopefully for good.

He cut his inner ramblings short before floating slowly towards the one with the blue spots on its rags.

The harsh rattles of his chains alerted the small creature to his presence and it turned around to greet him with his squeaky voice, rapidly blinking eyes and nervously twiddling fingers.

"Such a pleasure to meet you, Baron, sir. Is there anything Bane can do for you, sir?" He bowed so deep his nose nearly touched the ground.

The Baron watched from the corner of his blank eyes as the other house-elves took the (_fresh, tasty, probably delicious_) salmon 'Bane' had carried in away from said elf's working place and began to prepare it on their own, never wasting a minute.

"Yes," he said while floating to a less busy part of the kitchen so as to not have to shout over the clattering and sizzling of the pans. "Are you the one that is in charge of our new … 'guest'?"

Dumbledore had forbidden him to mention Elric's non-magical status to anyone and he could understand the caution. If anyone was to know a Muggle was present he'd become the castle's main attraction in less than the blink of an eye. But it was still hard to refer to someone he usually looked down upon as an 'honourable guest' and he had had to take a deep, calming breath before he had spoken the term.

The small creature in front of him fiddled with the brim of his rags.

_Perhaps I sounded too accusing?_

But it was not like he particularly cared, as his hoarse voice and gaunt face often had this kind of influence on others, and he had long since gotten used to being respected no matter what he said and to whom.

"Yes, Mr. Baron, sir. Master Dumbledore appointed the task of leading our guest, Mr. Elric, to his quarters to Bane. Did Bane not complete his duties to your pleasure, sir?"

_Definitely scared. _He forced down a forming grin and continued to look sternly down upon the servant.

"I have not yet decided on that, elf. I was sent to meet him but was unable to find anything except his luggage. Are you sure you escorted him properly?"

The house-elf replied instantly.

"Yes! Yes, sir, Bane escorted him directly to his appointed quarters. He even asked if he could be of any further service, sir!"

A silver line above his blank eyes rose sceptically. "And what did our 'guest' reply? Did he need any more assistance?"

_Of course he did. He is a Muggle in a magical castle! And it's a known fact that Muggles need electricity and technology to survive, so it's likely that he would ask for some kind of useless and unnecessary device._

"Yes, yes he did." _Knew it._ "He wanted to know if there was something he could read, like spare school books."

_...Huh? _His blank, dark grey eyes were obscured by light silver as his lids blinked owlishly.

"The library was a mere 300 meters away, so Bane walked the way with him," continued the elf. "He was very delighted by the books, sir, even if a little overwhelmed by their amount."

"So I take it that he is still in the library right now?"

"Yes. Bane suggested to come and escort him to the Great Hall when dinner is ready, sir, and Mister Elric agreed. Is there anything else Bane should have done, sir?"

The elf still hadn't calmed down and nervously stepped from one tiny foot to the other as if he wanted nothing more than to run away and escape the scrutinizing gaze the Bloody Baron had directed at him. Fast blinking eyes fixed themselves on the ground beneath the ghost and with his head held downcast, Bane waited for his judgement.

"No, everything is alright." He was about to turn away from the very relieved house-elf at his feet and fly through the ceiling when another thought occurred to him.

"But, say, what was your impression of him?"

"Impression, sir? Bane is sorry, but he doesn't understand...Bane is not in the position to judge the Master's guests, sir."

_House-elves...you always have to watch how you word things._ He sighed.

"You don't have to judge, just to state what he acted like," he said in a chiding tone and was pleased to see the change in demeanour.

"Oh," replied the elf hastily once again to avoid annoying him any further. "He was very friendly. A little shy maybe and tense, but he was exceptionally polite to Bane. ...Bane wondered about that, actually, because whenever Mister Elric looked at him, he would wear a pained expression full of grief and sadness."

This was unusual, the Baron conceded, as he would have expected the disgusted and bewildered expression that Muggleborn first years wore when they met a house-elf for the first time.

_But he wanted to read school books_, he mused. _Probably to learn magic, even if there is no way he could succeed. It must seem appealing to him what a superior being such as a wizard can do. One always wants what they can't have, after all._

He would know.

"Is there anything else Bane can do for you, sir?" came the squeaky voice from below that broke his once again depressing thoughts.

He looked down into those too big, too blue and too fast blinking eyes and slowly shook his head. Without further comment and without giving a reply, he rose through the ceiling of the kitchen and left the faint memories of smells and tastes he could no longer experience behind. Passing by armours and paintings he nodded curtly to the figures he was on relatively friendly terms with and continued on his way through walls and ceilings until he found himself floating in the familiar surrounding of the thousands of bookshelves that were the library.

He had ended up entering right through the tomes of the Divination section and glanced around to see if his target was coincidently standing in the same row. He wasn't, though, and he thus passed another couple of shelves stuffed to the brim with books on anything related to magic until he was able to spot someone standing by the books on Magical Theory.

_Dumbledore must have missed to tell me that the Muggle is still a teenager, _he thought irritably. _'Watch over him', he said. 'Keep and eye on him,' he said. He could have just told me that it's a babysitting job!_

The moment his temper flared upon this realization, he knew his cheeks turned from light silver to dark grey. He had been a Baron when alive and, although that was long ago, people still showed him his due respect by sticking to his title. He had received one of the best educations available at his time, made sure to work hard in his studies and was very well-mannered. (Not that he could say the same about Peeves, who had been around just as long as he had. The stray-thought, however, merely served to further darken his mood.) He had been a wizard: intelligent, powerful, cunning.

To sum it up, he had been nearly at the top of the world.

_And now! Now I'm being reduced to babysitting a teenage-_Muggle_ residing at Hogwarts School of _Witchcraft_ and _Wizardry_._

He breathed in deeply and snorted inaudibly in defeat.

Another scan around and he was angrily making his way towards a nearby armchair in which he sank down, mindful to handle his chains as cautiously as possible. He did not actually feel the pressure of the seat or backrest as he lowered his translucent body, nor could he feel their texture under his fingertips or the softness of the slightly worn material. But even after all those centuries, the basic normality of the sight of the armrests below his silvery, robe-clad arms gave him a sense of security. Of familiarity. He focussed on the feeling and, after five long minutes, managed to calm down. Slightly.

With yet another sigh, he raised his eyes off his arms and started to properly assess the situation across the room.

One would suspect that a magical castle is the _un_natural habitat of any Muggle, but this specimen proved this to be false. He stood apparently relaxed and engrossed in one of the thick, old tomes that made up most part of the section, back resting comfortably against the bookshelf right behind him. His right hand was holding the heavy book, the left put inside his pants pocket for most of the time, occasionally appearing to turn a page, before quickly returning to its former place once again. Surrounding him were a few discarded books that lay scattered on the floor, some of them piled up in ways that would have Madame Irma Pince screaming if she ever found out.

An angry scoff and a loud thud later, the book that was formerly resting in the Muggle's hand had to obey the rules and forces of gravity as well – and joined its mates on the carpeted floor.

The Baron's eyes narrowed in disapproval.

* * *

Several hours later and the scene hadn't changed much: the Bloody Baron was still 'sitting' in his supposedly comfortable armchair and, even as his temper had calmed down over time, was as bored as before. The Muggle hadn't done anything other than skim through his chosen books until he decided they weren't worth his time anymore and dropped them to the ground. By now, he had chosen to sit down, right in the centre of the circle of discarded literature that had accumulated around him. No matter how much he read, no matter how much he searched, no matter how many books he picked – to the Baron it seemed as if he still hadn't been able to find whatever it was he was looking for. And he had been looking for hours and hours without taking a break even once.

_If nothing else, he is at least diligent and persistent_, thought the ghost before chiding himself. This was a Muggle. A Muggle who hadn't even been taught the value of books, to be exact! Or how much of a gift it was to actually be able to read. To not only be able to see all the mocking bookshelves, but to be able to stretch out a hand and _take_ one. To open the cover and to thumb through it. To feel its weight in your hands, smell the scent that was unique to only the oldest of them... His fists clenched at the memories. _Yes_, he thought. _One always wants what they can't have indeed. _

He would know.

And just like the first time he had thought along those lines, the squeaky voice of the house-elf with the blue spotted rags cut straight through his musings.

"Uhm. Excuse me? Mister Elric? Sir_?_"

The Muggle didn't even so much as twitch.

"Sir! You asked me to show you the way to the Great Hall when dinner is ready. Mr Elric!"

Still no reaction.

The Baron sighed with irritation as he watched the frown on the elf's forehead increase with every moment that passed without a reaction. He could practically read the thoughts crossing through the tiny head: he's our guest so I should be polite. But he will miss dinner if I don't manage to catch his attention. But it would be rude to shout any louder. But he must be really hungry by now. Ohhh what should I do?

_And so on and so forth. _

He watched the silent debate for one whole minute before deciding that he had done enough babysitting for the day. The sooner the Muggle was downstairs and with Dumbledore, the sooner he was free for the evening.

When the Headmaster had told him to keep an eye on the boy, he surely hadn't meant to watch a Muggle sleep all night long.

_At least he didn't _specifically_ tell me to, so it doesn't matter if he wanted exactly that. I'm not watching him even one. more. minute._

Mind made up, the Bloody Baron rose from his floating position atop the armchair and rushed right into the motionless figure sitting in the middle of the piles of books. _Well, the formerly motionless figure sitting between the books_, he thought when a pleased smirk appeared on his face. Because, as soon as he had passed through his unsuspecting victim, a startled shriek had bounced off the towering rows of bookshelves.

"_What_ on earth...?" came the yelled curse shortly thereafter.

Whilst Muggles generally lacked the ability to see ghosts, they still felt as if they had dove into ice cold water whenever they came into direct contact with them.

And whilst he didn't usually prank people, he could make an exception for the Muggle.

He was not supposed to reveal him as non-magical, however, so the Baron decided go on in his rush and pass right through the next shelf. If he was not within direct sight of the school servant, it was unlikely that the conversation would move to have him as a topic. And even if it did, Elric would say he couldn't see any ghosts around – and with him being long gone this would be nothing but the truth.

As he left the scene behind him, he thought about what he could do next and decided that a quick search for Peeves would be in order. He would inform him that he was not welcome in the east side of the castle, especially not on the third floor, for as long as he didn't give him permission. With the mood he was in right now he had no doubt that the uncivilized poltergeist would follow his orders, no more questions asked.

And then he would return to his favourite spot in the Astronomy Tower.

* * *

The Bloody Baron had not given his task much thought during the night. Instead, he had enjoyed the loneliness that the Astronomy Tower provided at this part of the year. There were but a few things that had stayed the same over the centuries and this was one of them: no students during summer break. No one to walk in on his private sessions of remorse and redemption. No one to interrupt him as he, once again, regretted the critical decisions of his life. The losses. The pain.

When dawn broke, however, he had slowly made his way towards the third floor once again. It had seemed like a good idea, when he had first thought about coming early and waiting for the Muggle as he wouldn't need to watch for his chains when settling down. But instead of doing exactly that, he was floating in the middle of the row on Magical Theory where he had wanted to take a closer look on the books the teen had chosen to discard the day before.

The very books that weren't lying on the floor anymore.

He frowned. _The house-elf must have arranged for them to be properly sorted back into their respective shelves. _

He appreciated that the library had been returned to its former order, but right now it only lead to increase his workload. With a grunt, he made his way to the part of a nearby shelf where he was sure had been a gap before the books had gotten replaced. The low rattling of his chains was heard when he stopped to read the titles that had been reinserted:

_A Short Collection on Different Races and Their Specific Uses of Magic_ by Adenine Adler (3)

_History of Magical Theory Through The Ages_ by Bob Boring

_Pure-Blood – Half-Blood – Mud-Blood – Similarities And Differences _by Chris Creepey

_The Flow – About Possible Sources of Magical Energy _by Cullen Currentius

_Very Brief Excerpt on the Inner Workings of Wands_ by Fanny Feather

_What to Keep in Mind When Using Wandless or Wordless Magic_ by Hardwin Handy

As the list continued on in alphabetical order, the Baron had the vague impression that Elric had merely grabbed one book after another, just browsing instead of looking systematically. He discarded the thought that he, himself, probably wouldn't know what exactly to look for when entering a room with ten-thousands of books that were written on subjects entirely foreign to him.

The Baron was moments from floating away from the shelves and looking for the armchair he had been occupying the afternoon before when he heard the door opening, followed by one pair of remarkably heavy and one pair of lightly tapping footsteps.

"Bane," intoned a much calmer voice than the one he had heard shrieking last time, "is there a section about Magical Creatures?"

"Yes, Mister Elric, sir, of course. It's this way."

He followed the sounds of the chatting noises and the footsteps as they wound their way around the zillion of bookshelves.

"Sir, uhm..." The squeaky voice of the house-elf piped up.

"Yes? What is it, Bane?"

The Baron hadn't realized this particular point until this moment, when he listened to the way the two were addressing each other. Sure, house-elves were servants to the superior race of the wizards, especially those with pure blood, but they were still _magical_ creatures.

_And thus superior to any Muggle. What did Dumbledore think when raising one of them above a magical being?_

Because that was exactly what he did when he announced Edward Elric to be his personal guest.

_A guest he doesn't even trust!_

He would make sure to ask Dumbledore about this matter the next time he would meet him, but for now he kept on floating behind the voices.

"May I ask..."

"Yes, Bane, of course. Ask anything you like."

The Baron could practically hear the reassuring smile.

"Mister Elric wanted to read up on Magical Theory yesterday. What made him change his mind?"

He could also hear the dumbfounded silence. And the nervous shuffling of tiny feet. He could not pass the last of the shelves separating them until the house-elf was gone though, unless he wanted to break his word to Dumbledore and reveal Elric's nature.

"Well... a couple of reasons, actually. For one, I'm not that knowing on this subject either." _You are ignorant on _all_ of our subjects, Muggle!_ "I read that one book yesterday which talked about different races using different kinds of magic but it was very superficial. When I asked Professor Hagrid on them this morning at breakfast, he suggested I go and accompany him into the forest but then the Headmaster said that would be too dangerous."

"Yes, Mister Elric, sir! That's why it's forbidden. Even Pac, the oldest and most experienced of the house-elves working in Hogwarts, is afraid of the creatures in there. Master Dumbledore is a very wise man."

"I...suppose so."

The Baron's grey eyebrows rose.

_He knows. He knows that Dumbledore doesn't trust him and that that's the real reason he wanted him to stay inside these walls. _

"Well, I thought since I can't visit them myself and since my interest is picked, I could at least read up on them a little whilst I'm here. Are these the books?"

"Yes, this is the section. Can Bane be of any further service to Mister Elric?"

Thankfully, the answer was a negative.

The Baron waited another moment until the hasty, soft steps had faded a little further, before he slowly crossed the remaining distance.

The Muggle was wearing nearly the exact same clothes as the day before, looking rather small between all the looming shelves. He was still looking in the direction the house-elf had left to and was, true to its word, wearing a grieving expression on his face. Elric shook himself out of his reverie and turned to the nearest books, skimming the titles for but a short moment before shrugging and just picking the one right in front of his nose. He continued to examine it shortly, then made his way to a nearby table, sat down properly and began reading.

_Not the floor this time?_ thought the Baron and raised a critical eyebrow.

It looked to be another long, boring day of watching, observing, _babysitting_ a Muggle.

And this time, there wasn't even an unoccupied chair around to ease his mind.

* * *

It had been five days since he had started to observe the teenager and by now he could see a pattern forming: the boy would wake up, go to the Great Hall, eat breakfast, come to the library, study books, go for lunch, come back, read, eat and go to bed. Whenever he went from one room to another he would be escorted by the house-elf to make sure he wouldn't get lost. Because, on the rare instances that didn't fit into the schedule, that's exactly what happened. Nobody could just sit still the whole day, reading books in a dusty library without feeling the urge to move once in a while.

_At least no mortal... _

So, whenever the Muggle felt the urge to exercise, he would get up from the chair he had been residing in, stretch a little and trace his way back through the maze of shelves until he would reach the entrance. And then he'd run. Along the corridors, the halls, upstairs, downstairs... wherever his feet would take him. He never left the castle, though, just ran until he was finally out of breath and completely lost. His sense of direction worked just fine in the library, but it completely failed him in the always-about-to-change rest of the castle. He would then call for his assigned house-elf and return to the library to pick up where he had left off.

The first times that this had happened, the Bloody Baron had thought he needed to accompany him to ensure that Peeves or the other ghosts would not cross his path. He had followed him down into his beloved dungeons, all the way through half of the castle until they reached the top of one of its many towers. Elric had stopped there, taken a moment to catch his breath and looked all over the surrounding fields, the Quidditch pitch, the Forbidden Forest with the half-giant's hut, the lake and the distant village of Hogsmeade. He just stood there, watching silently as the trees' leaves flapped in the wind, as the grass swayed in the breeze and tiny waves built on the lake's black surface.

There was longing in his eyes.

And during this one, short moment, the Baron had thought that maybe, just maybe, the blond could understand his sentiments. To be able to watch, though not touch. To be able to hear, yet appear to be so far away. He did not know what it was exactly that had caused the look in the other's eyes appear but the restriction of the castle probably had him feeling caged. Maybe there were other factors that played a role too, but the moment was over and the ghost remembered that he was only here to babysit him.

And the annoyance took over again.

He had talked to Dumbledore that first night, in an attempt of getting out of the job but it had been no use. The Headmaster was incompliant concerning the topic now that the Bloody Baron had already agreed and so he had floated to his 'workplace' again the next morning. After the running had started, Dumbledore had told the rest of the ghosts that their new guest has had some very unpleasant experiences in his past life, that they should thus keep away from him so as to not agitate him unnecessarily. The best they could hope for would only be ignorance anyway.

This, the majority of the twenty seemed to understand and agree to. As always, there was an exception.

The Baron's eyes narrowed at the thought. He was currently on his way back from an encounter with exactly that ...person. After those first runs he had come to the conclusion that, instead of watching out that Elric did not get pestered by Peeves, he could just as well watch out that Peeves did not pester Elric. It would save him the trouble of rushing through the castle, chasing after a remarkably fast Muggle, whilst having a hard time of keeping his chains as soundless as possible. And, at the same time, he could tend to his secondary favourite pastime: lecturing the poltergeist.

During the last few days, this had proven to be the ultimate way to vent his frustrations over babysitting. The poltergeist's liking to embarrass, harass and annoy was one of the few things the Bloody Baron had never managed to understand in all the centuries he had known the other. Peeves was a ghost, yes, but not a normal ghost. He was a _poltergeist_, allowed to fly through ceilings and walls just like him and the others – but at the same time he was allowed to actually _touch_ things. Peeves could feel the wobbly nature of the pudding in the kitchens if he wanted to. He could take a book out of a shelf and hold it. Open it. Read it. - If he wanted to.

And what does he do instead?

_He takes it out of the shelves, alright, but just so that he can drop them on a student's head! He's had a millennia to grow up, to act at least a little civilized, but he has not learned even. One. Single. Thing!_

He seethed so much that he decided a quick detour through the familiarity of his dungeons would be in order. Fifteen minutes later he was back upstairs again and on his daily route to the library.

As much as he had hated the job at the beginning, he couldn't say he did so anymore. He didn't like it, of course, to have been practically ordered (Dumbledore always worded things nicely, after all) to stay put all day long and watch over a Muggle. But at least the Muggle didn't do anything that would constantly remind him of his nature. If the Baron managed to forget about this particular characteristic and the foreign clothes, he could pretend to be watching one of the students, maybe even one of those that were his love's charges.

The boy mostly read all day long. He apparently had a high need for sleep and food as well, much higher than the average teenager's, and he did spend some time running, but this was what he did for the biggest part. And, most importantly, he had learned to treat the books with more respect after the house-elf with the blue-spotted rag had revealed to him that it had been his job to sort them back each time he had left a mess behind. He had only wanted to tell Elric that he was doing his best in serving him and 'Master' Dumbledore but the 'damage' had been done and the boy had never again left a single book lying around. Whatever it was that had led to the strange look in his eyes when watching the tiny creature, it was enough to have him change his ways. And the increase in caution with the books simultaneously served in calming down the Bloody Baron.

A quick glance at his surroundings revealed what he had already known deep inside: he had arrived next to the library. After all the time spent in Hogwarts, the layout of the castle had been engraved into his very being, no matter how many times the 120 staircases, multiple floors and uncountable paintings moved. Remembering where the boy had spent his time the day before, he swiftly turned to his left, passed the wall to the section on Transfigurations and stopped short.

He had come face to face with Edward Elric. But this wasn't even what had surprised him. The one thing that had let to him stopping dead in his tracks was that it seemed as if the _Muggle_ was _looking_ _right at him_.

_But that's not possible!_

No sooner had the thought left his mind, did he realize that the golden orbs were actually moving, eyebrows drawn together in slight concentration.

_He's reading. The books of the shelf I flew through when entering._

That realization relieved him only for the short moment it took the one across from him to decide on which tome to read first, raise his right arm, grab it and go to the nearest table.

_His hand went right through me, yet he didn't feel it. Didn't feel me. Me and my body's icy coldness._

But he had been able to on the instances where he had forcefully woken him from his book-love. He had felt the ice-cold chill then, had been brought out of that trance that was so deep the Baron never actually had to worry about the traitorous rattling of his chains.

_What's different this time?_

He frowned and, raising his own arm to the right one of the boy, slowly neared his test subject.

The silvery grey of his arm passed the fabric and disappeared from sight – but apart from that nothing happened. He waited, motionless, frown deepening with every second that he was left without a reaction.

The Baron had still not come to a conclusion on what was wrong when a change could be seen in the Muggle's demeanour: his brows furrowed and he shifted a little in his seat. A minute later, his left hand abandoned its post of holding the book and came up to rub slightly at his right shoulder.

_The shoulder?_

Imitating the motion, the Bloody Baron changed the position of his arm, travelling up and up until he had it at its destination.

The signs from before intensified but were still very far away from the one he would have expected to get.

Taking the experiment a step further got it, though.

As soon as he touched the boy's torso he shrieked, as _usual_, jumped out of his chair and scrambled away. Standing in a clearly defensive position, wide, golden and highly confused eyes roamed the room in search of his unknown 'attacker'.

"Why couldn't you feel me sooner?" the Baron asked incredulously, not caring about what Dumbledore had been saying about keeping a low profile at all, to make room for his curiosity.

"What...? Who said that?"

The teen was still staring around the room, eyes focussing in on one corner before shifting quickly to the next. His body, just as tense as his voice, was backed up against one of the tall shelves he had searched shelter from.

"I did."

Of course, the Baron knew that this kind of answer was not helpful at all but rather served to worsen things. This didn't mean, however, that he actually had to mind.

"Why couldn't you feel me when I was touching your arm? You felt me all the times before that and you certainly did just now. What makes the difference?" His voice was as hoarse as always and his disregarded chains rattled a little when he floated nearer to the boy.

"How would I know, when I don't even know what you are talking about! Or who you are, for that matter."

_Or where._

The Bloody Baron stilled for a moment and regarded the Muggle across from him carefully. He figured that he was regretting having chosen such an unfortunate place between and backed up against the shelves: the rapid eye movement was giving it away. He also figured that he was scared; he managed to hide it masterfully behind that all-consuming scowl but with the practice of seeing through the lies of students for all these years, it wasn't that much of a challenge. And it was apparent that the occurrence was confusing him a lot.

_I won't get an answer unless I answer first?_ He scowled a little himself.

"This is what I meant...," he said and rushed forward to once again pass through the boy's body, then made a u-turn behind the shelf to rejoin him. From nearly the same spot he had been talking from before, he continued his sentence.

"...and I am a ghost."

"A ghost..."

"Yes, I think I just said that." The Bloody Baron had never been a very even-tempered person and a certain edge in his voice showed just how much he liked to repeat himself. Usually it did the trick and the addressed person would get the hint to start thinking faster.

"But what do you mean?"

_...What?_

"What?"

This, certainly, couldn't be considered 'faster' in any sense.

The teen narrowed his eyes in thought.

"What do you mean, a 'ghost'?"

_And this can't be considered 'clever'. _He scowled even deeper._ Even Muggleborns know what ghosts are!_

"I don't think I understand your question."

If his teeth had still been solid, he would have been gritting them by now. Elric, on his side, had his eyes narrowed in thought, his head had tilted slightly to the left, and his stance was still defensive, yet less tense than before.

"I don't believe in ghosts. You are either alive or not and if you claim to be a ghost, this would mean you are dead."

"Yes, obviously. By definition."

"A dead person is, per definition, a corpse. I don't see a corpse! And I've neither met a talking nor an invisible one either."

"Of course not," he snorted, "you are a Muggle after all."

"So then," he stopped for a moment to think further, "then, if I understood things right, you are telling me that some part of a wizard's genes allows them to see...what exactly?"

"Me, as I was in the moment of my death. A little more transparent, though."

From his stunned position in front of the shelves, the teen continued to blink owlishly at his general direction.

"And... you are sure that you are dead? And still here at the same time?"

"Yes!" He all but growled.

"When did you..." he continued his interrogation but was cut off before he could get any further.

"I do not wish to discuss this with you," the Bloody Baron all but exploded. "Especially not in detail, as this is very personal. Rest assured that I _lived_ and _died_ a long time ago and that I _am_ still able to be talking to you right now." He took a long breath to calm down, but it didn't help. "You still haven't answered my original question."

The teen had cringed when he had started – obviously oblivious to the storm forming as he couldn't see the expression on his face – but after the initial shock was over it seemed to give him confidence. It seemed that he appeared to have a high level of tolerance against, and experience with, temper tantrums. He stood, stance wide, hands in his pockets and head held high and faced calmly in the general direction he was hearing the voice from, but seemed to still have troubles to wrap his mind around the current situation.

It had been years, no, centuries even, since the last time anyone had stood up to the Bloody Baron like this. That was before he had perfected the special edge and applied it to his voice, before he had learned how to tune up his glare, how high in the air he should be floating so that _anyone_ would have to look up to him – yet not too high so as to not be too close to the ceiling and appear smaller than he was. It had been before he had realized just how to hold his chains to seem even more threatening and which words to choose to intimidate even more. Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington was the only one even slightly immune to his ways and thus one of the very few, if not the only, that he regularly spent time with.

Elric might not be able to see him, but in addition, he had to deal with something that all the students, ghosts and wizards never had to: he had to face something unknown, something invisible – something unknown and invisible that was apparently very angry.

With mild confusion, the Bloody Baron realized that the youth might have just gained a little bit of his respect.

"Then... these genes are making everyone stay on Earth after having passed on? And if it was 'a long time ago' and you are still this troubled about it, then there isn't even a way to be...truly dead?"

_Or maybe not, _thought the Baron who wasn't only bemused but disappointed as well_. He didn't even listen to what I said about my original question! _

"No, they don't." And he regretted to have started that talk but now the damage had been done. Also, if he decided to be completely honest with himself, he was still curious as to what could make people immune to his chill. It had been a while since he had encountered something that could raise his interest, but with the conversation carrying on he wasn't sure if the trouble was worth it, after all.

"Huh?"

_Very clever indeed..._

"Wizards pass on just like everyone else. Our souls just have deeper connections to the Earth's energies and we thus can … decide whether to hold onto those or fade away."

"And the decision is permanent? What about your corpse?"

"Buried, like everyone else's," he stated exasperatedly. "And yes, my state is permanent. That's why there are only very few who choose this path. We all had our reasons, though. Some naïve, some sensible, some stupid – but reasons we deemed important enough nevertheless."

There was one way that led out of being a ghost. Only one. In theory. He had heard many of his comrades talk about it, especially during the last year, but none of them had been brave enough to try. And even if one did, the rest wouldn't know whether they succeeded or just worsened their fate.

_Nobody knows what comes after your soul got sucked out by a Dementor. Especially if the only thing you consist of is that very soul. And none of us felt like getting eaten sounded like such a nice alternative either._

There had been a lot of tension in the castle. Tension and fear. Enough so that is was practically palpable in the air.

Elric couldn't see his face and for that, the Baron was glad. He had opened his mouth as if to ask a question, then thought for a moment before closing it decisively. He would not ask further.

The teen had relaxed considerably at the lack of danger, though, and used the lull in conversation to walk back to the table, pick up his fallen chair and sit down. He was frowning slightly in concentration.

"So," the uncomfortable silence lasted a while longer, "...apart from the reason, how...can you choose? I mean … when? Where?"

It took the ghost a moment to figure out what he had actually wanted to ask before he continued with his tiresome explanations.

"Before 'true death' as you phrased it, everyone arrives in the in-between world or, as others might call it: the Limbo. From what I've heard, it looks different to everyone: a path into the distance, a bridge to cross, a tunnel to traverse, a train to take, a gate to pass. There is nothing else but it. Only foggy whiteness. This … "

"A gate surrounded by nothing but whiteness?" interrupted a flabbergasted Elric his story.

The Baron blinked.

"It...may look like that to some, yes. Why?"

Again, the mouth opened but nothing came out. The eyes were in a troubled haze, searching for something, but could not find it just like the hands that balled into fists without actually lashing out to punch.

After three minutes, the silent fight was won and the decision made.

"You were there, right?"

The Baron's confirming nod went unheard. He had seen the bridge.

"Yes," he simply answered instead.

"Did you... Was there... someone else? With you?"

"...Someone?" he asked wearily in return.

The existence of the in-between world wasn't anything that was supposed to be kept a secret between the ghosts. They were all questioned repeatedly upon what death was like and this was the answer. Their death was white. Their death was empty. And turning your back on it was a decision for eternity, one that every ghost that was above two centuries old had regretted. They made sure to stress this last point to save the poor soul that was asking from the same fate as theirs.

Thus, he had felt no need to hold back when answering this very familiar question.

But as far as he knew, nobody had ever leaked the information about the one they referred to as Death. Nobody except Beetle the Bard and, fortunately, people thought of his stories as fairy tales. The fact that he had added in a cloak and erased the whiteness did help to blur things further as well, but that was beside the point.

"Yes," the teen bit his lower lip lightly, "someone... a being. Just as white. Right in front of the gate... train, whatever. With an ever-present grin."

Apparently someone else _had_ leaked. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

_But just where did this boy get the information from?_

"How do you know?"

_And why do you want to know?_

His question was met with another wave of silence, longer even than the one before. Then:

"I..." He sighed. "You wondered about my arm earlier, right?"

"Yes." _A wonder that he still remembers..._

"It couldn't feel you because I can't feel the arm. It's not 'mine'. Not the real one anyway."

The Bloody Baron didn't get the time to ask what he was talking about, as the teenager positioned his right arm in front of his body and used his left hand to pull the fabric of his sleeve back a good ten centimeters. He angled his forearm a little and the glinting reflections of the nearby placed lantern's light on metal flashed up momentarily. The revelation lasted for but a moment and soon enough the limb lay forgotten, fully clothed and seemingly _normal_ on the table again.

The ghost did not know what to make of it. _Surely he doesn't expect me to be sympathetic? _Because that would never happen. No matter what went wrong with the arm, compared to him, the kid was still alive. And that's what counted in the end.

The Baron had never spent a thought about what Muggles would do if they ever lost a limb. He had assumed they did what wizards had been doing before the Regrowth Potion had been perfected for the first time by Frederic Fuller in the late 15th century: get used to live with the rest of them. Someone missing one limb or another was a common occurrence before then and four of his ghostly acquaintances still 'wore' the signs of the miseries and wars that had been fought.

He had never given the Muggles enough credit to come up with an idea of their own, either, but what he had just been presented with appeared to be working really well. (He hadn't even suspected that Elric had anything but four normal limbs.) It even seemed to be working better than what wizards had to wear who lost an arm or leg by the means of the Dark Arts. But still...

_That was most definitely metal. And attached to a human's body, that's nothing less than abhorrent._

"What about the real one, then? What happened to it?" he decided to remark at last.

"He... _it_ has it. The one from the Gate," conceded Elric, reminiscing.

And again, he had that very familiar look in his eyes. The longing for something that is out of reach. Will always be. The sight of it that you can only glimpse at. Because of the obstacles that block the clear view. The imagination of the feeling below your fingertips. Even when it's only an illusion. Maybe has always been.

"The Guardian?" asked the Baron to get his thoughts back on track.

The youth grimaced a little but kept his eyes fixed on the old tomes surrounding them. It was in a low, resigned voice that he answered.

"Does the name even matter? We call it 'Truth' most of the time when it's really All. Or Me. Or You. Or the 'Guardian' as you call it. Or any other fitting name..." He interrupted himself at that before finishing, "...but yes, that's who I meant."

"They say one cannot meet the Guardian and get out alive, Elric. That's why we have another name for him: Death."

_Let's see, how he gets out of this one_, thought a very irritable Bloody Baron. The conversation had seemed to become quite interesting at one point but it had all been a fluke. His current arm being metallic explained the earlier confusion with not being able to feel the dip in temperature. His real arm being held – what? Hostage? – at the hands of Death himself was downright telling lies. Outrageous ones at that.

He noticed the pair of grim, golden, way-too-old and (again) longing eyes that had focussed in his general direction.

For a moment, Elric just sat there, staring wordlessly at him. Then:

"They say one either dies when meeting the bastard - or they would wish to have died if they survive."

"..."

"..."

The voice had been steady, yet laden with remorse. The gaze hard, focussed and unrelenting, even if there was no one visible to direct it upon. These eyes spoke of untold stories, secrets never shared; of emotions buried long ago, always kept at bay; of great losses, never overcome – but also of determination, big enough to move mountains.

The Baron sighed. "So I must ask: _do_ you wish to die?"

"No, I don't," came the firm reply. A change could be seen in the other's attitude and it seemed as if the determination was growing by the second and, once started, the words wouldn't stop to flow. "I can't die yet. See, it's not only my arm that is there. What was merely my limbs for me, was way worse for my brother. I'm the older one of us. I was supposed to be the more mature, the more knowing, the one to judge the risks correctly. Even when it rebounded, I should have been the one to be punished more severely. Not Al. Never Al. That night, we set out to complete our family and we only succeeded in loosing even more of it. I failed him – I will not fail him again. I don't know how long it will take me or what it will cost, but I _will_ set things straight! I promised."

"...What did you do?"

Silence reigned in the library for the next couple of seconds, before Elric shook his head slightly and grimaced.

"It doesn't matter. Not anymore, at least. What matters is that I was the one to get things into a mess, as it was my idea. And that it's my job to fix the mistakes I made before it's too late. However, to do that, I need to gather as much knowledge as I can on the thing that you call limbo and its Guardian. You have been there. You have met it. You have lived long enough to hear other stories than your own about that place." He took a slow, steadying breath. "My question is: will you share them with me?"

The Bloody Baron regarded the Muggle in front of him thoughtfully. He had no idea how the brothers had managed to meet Death and get away alive. He didn't even know what exactly had happened to the younger one or what they had attempted to do. And even more so since it seemed unlikely the younger had magic either.

He believed him, though.

_But, just like he said, maybe it doesn't matter after all._

Because he had finally realized that the longing look, the remorse and the sorrow that practically emanated off the teen in waves at times - all of it wasn't only slightly similar to what he felt himself. Instead, it was exactly the same.

Because his love for his brother was as big, if not greater, as his love for Helena.

Because they had both hurt their beloved without thinking properly.

Because they both regretted their irreparable sins terribly.

_But this one...,_ the Bloody Baron thought with hope. _This one is still alive. He may not be able to do anything in the end, but at least he tries. _

After all, nobody should have to suffer through this, not even a Muggle.

And if he could make sure of it, help even a little, then he would.

And if the few stories he actually knew turned out to be of no use at all, then at least he had tried.

Mind made up, he started talking.

* * *

It was a good two hours later that the Bloody Baron was floating through the halls and ceilings again. He was currently on his way to the Headmaster's Tower for his final meeting with Dumbledore on their 'guest'. Referring to it as 'final' was a little overboard in the Baron's eyes - they had met first when he got the task, and only once more when he tried to hand it back - but there had always been a deep love for powerful word-choices, hidden behind that gleaming pair of half-moon glasses.

_Or insane word-choices_, he added as an afterthought when the first feast of the year speeches re-entered his mind.

He was in no hurry to arrive at the office, though. They had had to halt their conversation when the house-elf had come to pick him up for lunch and escorted him to the Great Hall. As such, the Headmaster would be there as well, leaving his office empty and isolated enough for the ghost to wait peacefully upon his arrival.

It was a room that he visited as often as the kitchens. Instead of smells, tastes and feelings, though, it was the people that he he had trouble facing. The paintings of all the former headmasters of Hogwarts.

All around the castle, there was a number of countless paintings on the walls of the stairwells, halls, corridors, common- and classrooms. And whilst they had been there for a couple of centuries for the most part, he only _really_ knew the ones they had been modelled from for as long as they had stayed as students in the school. A headmaster stayed longer than that. Long enough to get used to their presence. Long enough to care.

And all of them died and got a painting.

Today was different, though. Today, he felt like he could bear them, maybe even spend some time in their presence and actually talk. He could not pinpoint why exactly, but he suspected it had to do something with the conversation he just had with Elric. With the memories it brought up. And with those eyes that seemed to back down from nothing, no matter how painful. Eyes that would take on anything, even bargain with Death itself.

All too soon, he was surrounded by the circular walls of the office he had sought out and by the voices that rang to greet him. The Baron responded politely, floated to a spot from which he could see them all and enjoyed the rare presence of peacefulness that settles in his chest.

It was a myriad of things that they spoke about: Dippet asked about how the ghosts had coped with the Dementors and if everything was fine; Thompson, having been a Hufflepuff during his schooldays and still very attached to his house, asked about the well-being of the Fat Friar; Anna Morgan wanted to know how his task had gone and like that, the list continued.

By the time Dumbledore joined the party an hour later, the Baron was surprised to find he hadn't even realized how the time had flown away.

"Oh! It seems like I was late for my own appointment," the current headmaster joked merrily. "Did you have to wait long, my dear Baron?"

"No, it was nothing." It really wasn't. _A mere hour _is_ nothing compared to eternity._

"I'm glad to hear that! I was having a very interesting conversation during lunch and lost track of time." He had made his way behind his desk and sank down into it until he felt completely comfortable and proceeded to talk: "I heard you had a talk with our guest? He wouldn't stop asking about ghosts, their way of life and how they could possibly talk when they have no solid vocal cords." The blue eyes were clashing drastically with the pastel orange of his robes, but the mischievous twinkle was there all the same.

_So that's what he considered 'interesting' about lunch._

"Yes, indeed. What was your answer to the last question?"

"That I have no idea," smiled the old man. "It must have been one of the first things he thought about when meeting you because when I confessed about not even having ever thought about it myself, he looked like it should have been the most obvious question in the world."

Most of the paintings' inhabitants joined in with low chuckles, but the Baron didn't. Not when he didn't even like the person across him and had no intention to joke around. He was here to give a basic report and then be on his way to enjoy the student-free castle; nothing more, nothing less.

"I was under the impression that his character was more important than my vocal cords, Headmaster," countered the ghost. He could offer one civil question to 'show interest' but that was all. "It also seems to me as if you've had a lot of time to assess it yourself during your shared meals."

"Oh, but two opinions are always better than one. And he is always acutely aware of my presence so I do believe you've had a better chance of observing him unnoticed."

_No need to waste any more time than strictly necessary._

"If by 'observing' you mean watching a teenager read then, yes, I had a good chance. He gets so engrossed in the books that he wouldn't have noticed anyone observing him, though – no matter if they were invisible or not."

Dumbledore didn't seem to care about that at all. _Of course he doesn't._

"What books was he most interested in?"

And with that, the real interrogation started. "It was Magical Theory first, then Creatures, later on Potions and Transfigurations. I don't think he had any kind of priority system. He checked in the Arithmancy and the Divination sections too, but they didn't seem to … _appeal_ to him."

This was a very nice way of describing the annoyed huffing against 'unscientific' _somethings_. It was hard to remember words that one had never heard before and the profanities leaving the Muggle's mouth when faced with the tomes had been among those. He had spent a total of fifteen minutes in each section before irritatedly moving on to Potions.

Dumbledore seemed to have gotten the underlying message, though, and chuckled again.

_Not that there are many times when he isn't either chuckling or twinkling._

"I think I know what you mean, Baron. So, Mr. Elric didn't show interest in any of the branches..." He thought a moment on that. "What about special books or spells. Or when you talked, what did he ask about?"

"No special interest in any books or spells either, Headmaster. And our conversation mostly circled around what a ghost is, how it is possible for us to stay here, if we have a way to become truly dead and so on. The typical questions the Muggleborns ask as well on their first days of school," he explained, "just a little bit more advanced."

"Advanced?"

"I don't usually talk about death and the pain that comes with it in the presence of eleven year olds."

"Of course not! Anything else?"

"No, nothing of concern."

After that, it was silent for a long time as Dumbledore recapitulated what had been said. The bushy brows drew together in concentration and he was sure that the Headmaster had expected more from the espionage.

_There would have been more_, thought the Baron, _if I had told more. But nobody who's still alive should know about the Guardian of the passage and its powers. That decision was made millennia ago. Apart from Beetle, Elric and his brother are the first exceptions to that and I will not include another._

"...He only read?"

"No, he ran around the castle as well. Never left it, never had a set destination and always got lost."

Still not the answer the old man was hoping for. He slumped down and thoughtfully stroked his long, white beard.

At last, he asked: "How would you characterize him?"

The Baron considered the question for a moment but the extra time didn't help very much. They'd only had one decent conversation so he wondered what exactly Dumbledore expected to hear. He glanced shortly to the cupboard behind the Headmaster, to a spot a little above his head where an old, worn hat was seated peacefully.

"I think Elric isn't cunning enough to be a fellow Slytherin," the ghost said. "He's too obsessed with books and knowledge and values those dear to him too much for that. However, I don't think that Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw would be the most suitable for him, either. My guess would lie with Gryffindor. He would do anything to protect family and friends, even bend the rules if necessary. I assume that he had to face a lot and is courageous but I have no proof for that."

_I don't have a lot of proof in general._

"So..." started Dumbledore a little while later, "... you don't think he is like Riddle?"

"Riddle?" asked the Baron, astounded. "No. The look in his eyes is totally different. The same pain and longing, yes, but not the hatred. Why would even you compare them?"

But the Headmaster waved the question aside. "Ah, don't mind me. Just a stray thought I had and of which I'm glad you could dispose of. Just to make sure, though: You are positive that we can trust him?"

"Up until now I was under the impression that I had to judge whether or not he could be trusted with the secret of the existence of the Wizarding World. You make it sound, however, as if he was posing an immediate threat by himself!" The Bloody Baron knew he was raising his voice but he couldn't help it: the thought of a non-magical, foreign teenager posing a threat was absurd on so many levels that he couldn't even hope to count all of them. And that's exactly what he told the Headmaster.

"You are probably right..." came the answer. "What about the secret keeping?"

It didn't sound like Dumbledore really believed he was right, but there was nothing he could do to change it. On this case, the Muggle was on his own. He had already done enough anyway.

"I'm not sure. Why don't you just have him swear to not tell anything specifically related to magic?"

"As if a teenager like him would hold true to his word!" He would have like it if the other had sounded a little less amused. As it was, though, he had to substantiate his former statement once more.

"What if it's an Unbreakable Vow?"

That, at least, earned him a pair of blinking eyes, which was admittedly better, yet still not enough.

"You can only do that between wizards."

"That may be true – but does _he_ know that?"

Because that was the whole point, after all.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Thanks for reading & special thanks to everyone that left a review! ^.^

And, well, this was fun! Today is my birthday and it's just no good to not celebrate with everyone else, so I thought treating you to virtual cake alone wouldn't be satisfying enough. A new chapter should do the trick, though. ;)

I called it an experiment earlier because the main characters appeared so late in the chapter.

Was it boring for you to read about the Baron's perspective or did you find it intriguing? I'm really curious about that! I had a lot of fun writing it, so maybe you had too – but nothing really happened so maybe you were just plain bored.

Apropos of nothing: I had originally planned to include the next conversation between Dumbledore and Ed, and the departure from Hogwarts, in this chapter but it was so loooong already. And it was supposed to be the shortest in the entire fanfiction! Guess I failed on that part. Also, I cut on the conversation between the Baron and Ed because I figured that that part would be more interesting if viewed from Ed's perspective in a kind-of-flashback next chapter.

* * *

**(Number)-time:**

(1) The Baron

So, I absolutely wanted to take a ghost's P.O.V. but wasn't that pleased with Helena as my original choice. And when my lovely beta suggested I take the Baron, well, I ran with it. Faaaar away. And loved every second of it!

The fact still remains: _The idea of using him belongs to __Gift of the Dragons__._

(2) House-Elf

The house-elf was called 'Blinky' at the beginning. The problem was that this led to a cartoon opening playing havoc in my mind all day long and me complaining to my beta about it. They, however, got something different associated with the name that led to me changing the name. You'll encounter what I mean in the upcoming chapter, but until then you can guess if you want. ;)

(3) Author's names on the books that Ed read

I couldn't resist. And I'm sure you all know why I chose such stupid names. ;)

I'll maybe do it in the future whenever I need to come up with unimportant names, but people who actually take part in the story, like the Aarons or Mr. Lane, will still get 'proper' ones.

(If not, here comes the reminder:

Bathilda Bagshot, Bellatrix Black, Bloody Baron, Colin Creevey, Fat Friar, Filius Flitwick, Godric Gryffindor, Gregory Goyle, Helga Hufflepuff, Luna Lovegood, Minerva McGonagall, Moaning Myrtle, Pansy Parkinson, Padma Patil, Parvati Patil, Peter Pettigrew, Quirinius Quirrel, Rowena Ravenclaw, Salazar Slytherin, Severus Snape, William Weasley, … – Anyone I missed?)

* * *

Thanks again for reading and please consider to review!

See you, hopefully, in the next chapter:

Flamel's Legacy


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